Return To Innocence
by Dimensional Traveller
Summary: 17 year old Winifred 'Fred'is a grocery store clerk in 2009,as well as former pick pocket.When she's shot in a robbery she's thrown back into 1899 with the newsies. She needs to find a way to get home without falling in love with either Spot or Racetrack.
1. A new Destiny Leads to aNew Path in Time

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. Winifred 'Fred' Addams is based off a friend of mine. Alley belongs to one of my best friends, as does Jo. Rainy belongs to me. :D The title of this story comes from Enigma's song "Return To Innocence."  
**_

_**(A/N: This story takes place in an "alternate universe" from my previous newsies stories. So Spot doesn't know and may never know my character Floaty.)**_

"Aw, come on, Fred!"

"I said no," Winifred 'Fred' Addams replied as she turned away from her old friend, now ex-friend, and quickly shoved her till into the cash register's drawer. Being a grocery store clerk was actually more responsibility than one would think, the money in the till was her responsibility. If there wasn't a certain amount of money in it by the end of the day she was in deep shit.

Brandon leaned against the counter and frowned, "Listen it's just a hundred bucks-"

"A hundred dollars is a lot of money," Fred replied in anger as she glared at him, "And I'm not about to steal from Mr. and Mrs. Brady, I won't do it." She crossed her arms, the grocery store had started out as a small mom and pop shop, then it grew into a state franchise, she worked in the one owned by the founders. They had known her since she was 17, and they knew she wasn't a thief, and she was most certainly not going to tarnish her reputation now.

"You used to live on the streets, we used ta pick pocket, or have you forgotten?" The 19 year old asked as he lifted the sleeve of his elbow length black shirt revealing the tattoos with the names of foster homes he had been in.

"I haven't forgotten," Fred replied, foster homes weren't always loving, kind, and fluffy like Disney movies and other shows made them out to be. The foster homes she had been placed in were so bad at times she swore she was living in a prison. Then, at 14, she and Brandon Daniels met, two orphans in two different but similarly crappy foster homes. They both agreed to run away, and did. They lived with a few other homeless kids in a larger abandoned building, their leader had been a 15 year old named Emmaline Conlon, she was the toughest kid in Brooklyn, some said her great-great-great grandfather was Spot Conlon. But whenever Fred asked her, the girl would snork and say 'I use the name Conlon 'cause kids still respect it. That's all.'

Fred had made her living pick-pocketing peoples wallets, watches, and other items. The watches she would sell. Then on her 16th birthday she had been pick pocketing from a tall older man who turned and slapped a pair of handcuffs on her. Detective O' Brady, the son of Mr. and Mrs. O' Brady. He had taken her home after she spent a week in the county jail, he was strict but he had straightened her out. Then introduced her a year later to his parents as a friend's daughter. Since then she had been living as Winifred Addams instead of Winifred Travis.

Then, not even a month before, Brandon came walking back into her life as if they had never been separated. Detective O' Brady, Tom, had been keeping tabs on Brandon and updating Fred on what he was up too. He had a record of drug abuse, selling drugs, and an assault charge. She wanted nothing more to do with him. She had been given a second chance, she was no way in hell going to throw it all away.

"I said beat it," Fred exclaimed in anger.

Brandon stared at her, his green eyes were glazed letting her know he was probably higher than a kite.

"Bitch, we were friends!"

"Were, that's the keyword, Brandon," Fred replied as she leaned forward and braced her hands on the register, "Now get out before I call the cops."

"The Fred I knew woulda beat my ass to the ground by now," he smirked.

"The Fred you knew is dead," she replied, "And she stays dead."

"Yeah, sure, don't worry baby, I'll bring her back," he smirked.

Fred bared her teeth, "Get. Out."

"Winifred, are you having trouble with this young man?" Questioned a regular customer, Minnie, as everyone called her since she dressed a bit like Minnie Mouse.

"No, miss, he was just on his way-" She started when Brandon leaned forward and whipped out a gun.

Fred's heart beat stopped for a moment, the Brandon she had known hated guns since his birth father was always threatening them with one. Now here he was using one.

"Everyone get the hell on the floor!" He shouted, "Now! Get down!" He shouted, his long dark brown hair flying as he twisted and turned his head, then fired a warning shot into the ceiling. Customers screamed and gasped, most falling to the floor, some however quickly darted into the bathrooms and locked the doors. She prayed they had cell phones so they could call the cops. Mr. and Mrs. O' Brady had long since refused to put an alarm system in their original grocery store, saying people should be trusted since there's good in everyone. She had agreed with Tom when she learned of this, they were naive to modern times.

Brandon turned and glared at her, his narrow face looked longer when he squared his jaw, "Open the register and give me the money, bitch. NOW!"

"Alright, just don't shoot anyone, Bran--"

"Don't use my name!"

"Alright, alright," she replied as she opened the drawer, it let out a long bang as it always did when it opened. Brandon's eyes widened and he lifted the gun up to her.

"No! It's just the register, it's old-" She tried to explain, throwing her hands in front of her. A moment later a loud bang followed by the worst and piercing pain she had ever experienced in her entire life took her over. She felt herself falling to the floor, heard screams and cries. Then Brandon stood over her babbling something that sounded like 'what have I done? Fred, get up, get up Fred!' She stared up at him as his image blurred even more, then entirely faded along with the rest of the world...

--------------

"Got a hot tip on da fourth," Exclaimed Racetrack Higgins to Weasel as he struck his match against the bar over the distribution center's large window.

"Youse shoah dis time?" Weasel questioned, narrowing his beady eyes as he did.

"I'se shoah, dis source is more reliable, I swear!" Racetrack replied, from the corner of his eye he watched as Morris rolled his eyes, Jack chuckled, and Davey waited to buy his papes.

"Foine, forty papes for Racetrack!"

Race was about to give a sarcastic thank you when a loud thud made everyone jump.

"What da hell was dat?" Oscar asked wide eyed, looking at Race as if the noise had been his fault.

"Don't look at me!" Race replied, then lunged when something long and solid fell from the top of the Distribution office's roof and onto the wooden planks. Racetrack was amazed, lying in front of him was a beautiful girl around his age in....Strange clothing. She wore pants made of a strange blue fabric, a white blouse, and a green apron with the name 'O ' Brady's Mart' on the front. Her blonde-reddish hair was pulled back into a pony tail.

"Whose dat and how'd she get up dere?" Snipeshooter asked.

"Dunno," Race replied, just as baffled as the younger newsie was. He squatted down and poked her, she was warm but there was no reaction. Damn, he hoped she wasn't dead.

"'Ello dere," he tried.

Blink walked over and knelt down and put his fingers onto the side of her throat.

"What are ya doin'?" Jack asked, curiously from behind Race.

"Checkin' her pulse, read in it one of da headlines dat a person can tell when another is a live or dead by the feel of deys heartbeat on their neck," Blink replied, "Its....Beating..."

"Well den get heh off me walkway!" Snapped Weasel.

"She's hoit!" Exclaimed another newsie from behind Blink, "Look at her side, it's bleedin'!"

Race peeked over to her right side, and sure enough, the blouse was stained with dark red blood. Who was this girl and what happened to her? He frowned, every part of him wanted to help her, yet another part of him was convinced she was trouble.

"What's goin' on heah?" Questioned the instantly recognizable voice of Brooklyn himself.

Race quickly stood and got out of the way, even though Spot's friends had nothing to fear from him they all knew to get out of his way when he wanted to see something.

The short, but tough, newsboy walked over, his large gray cap hiding most of his hair and bangs and casting a slight shadow over his ocean blue eyes. Every newsie knew that when a glint was in those blue eyes and his jaw squared, you got the hell away as quick as you could. Spot didn't get his reputation as the as the most feared and respected newsie in all of New York for no reason at all.

Spot stared up at Oscar and Morris, "Open da dooah, she needs help."

"Not happenin', Conlon," Sneered Morris.

"She's hoit!" Spot argued.

"Whatevah trouble she was in I'se ain't havin' in heah," Weasel replied, "Youse just take her wid youse awll!"

Spot sneered, that look came over his face as he lowered his head and glared at the two Delancey brothers and their uncle before sneering.

"Race, Mush, get ovah here. Youse lodging house is closest, let's get her dere befoah she bleeds ta death. Blink go ask Kloppman if dat nephew of his can drop by da lodgin' house. Tell 'im it's an emergency, a goil got shot." Spot ordered.

Jack had already joined him by then, "Mush pick her up, Race give me one of youse papes," he exclaimed.

Race reached onto the distrubution counter and grabbed one. Cowboy took it and a few newsies climbed up the ramp and covered the view so Oscar, Morris, and Weasel wouldn't see anything. Jack's face started to glow beat red as he untucked the woman's blouse from her pants. When he couldn't lift the shirt, he quickly untied the apron, newsies all quickly looked away. Jack quickly shoved the paper over her wound to cover and try to soak up most of the blood.

"Take heh ta da lodgin' house, hurry," he exclaimed. He watched as Mush ran off and began to follow, then noticed the way that both Race and Spot were staring after the girl. Concern mixed with curiosity and something else that he recognized all too well. It was the look a man got when they found a pretty girl, he just hoped this girl wasn't in a deadly sort of trouble. The last thing he'd want to do was kick a wounded person, no less a girl, out on the streets. But to protect his newsies he would.

-----------------------

Spot waited in the lobby with Jacky-Boy, Race, Blink, and Mush. It had been half an hour since they had brought the mystery girl whose name was Winifred (thanks to the strange pin with her name on it that Mush had found on her apron) into the Lodging House.

Kloppman's nephew hadn't said a single thing, he had just glanced at her and his face began to look doubtful.

"I'se hope she don't die," Blink said softly, "She don't look like she'd hoit anyone."

"Looks ah deceivin', we'se awll know dat," Spot replied.

Blink and the others nodded in agreement.

The four continued to wait in silence for another hour before the door opened. Timothy Kloppman walked out of the room, wiping his hands on a rag. Spot stared at the blood and his stomach clenched, with so much of a blood loss would that girl survive?

"She's alive," Timothy exclaimed, as if reading their thoughts, "However she's suffered severe blood loss. But she's strong, I think she'll make it."

"What do we'se do when she wakes up?" Jack questioned.

"Make sure she keeps in bed, have her eat good and healthy food, but take it slowly. Let her drink some water first, then introduce her to food. Only small portions at a time so she doesn't become sick. Then send someone to my office and I'll come back to see how she is."

"How long 'till she's bettah?" Mush asked.

"Healed? The bullet wound was deeper than it appeared, however it didn't seem to hurt any organs. Until her blood restores and she's healthy enough to be out and about, it could be weeks. And don't treat her like a victim."

"But she is a victim," Spot pointed out.

"Yes, but a victim, from my experience, hates being treated like a victim. Be nice, but don't smother her, is all I'm saying." Timothy replied, "Uncle James, if you need me you know where I shall be."

"I will, thank you Tim," Kloppman replied with a nod.

"So whad do we'se do now?" Race frowned.

"We'se wait," Jack replied.

------------------------------------------

Scraping. She heard scraping, oh God, was Brandon reloading his gun? She hoped not, she tried to move but a pain from he side stopped her, she gave a small whimper. When she first heard the noise she couldn't remember what had happened, then it had returned to her. Brandon coming into the grocery store wanting a hundred dollars. Her saying no, him pulling out a gun and shooting her. It was her fault that he was even there, he had tracked her down somehow, how was she going to apologize to Mr. and Mrs. O' Brady and still have their trust?

Then the image of Brandon standing there in front of her counter with his tight shirt and semi-baggy pants pointing a gun at her reappeared in her mind. _He shot me! That bastard shot me!_ Part of her was in shock he'd do such a thing, the other part of her wasn't surprised, the last part of her wanted revenge.

She tried to move again.

"Woah, don't move it's ok," exclaimed a male voice with a Brooklyn accent.

Brooklyn? Brooklyn was at least 50 miles away, she lived in a small town in a rural part of New York, away from the big city.

She blinked, the room she was in was fuzzy, she stared up at something white and brown. What the hell? She blinked again, after a long minute her eyes focused. Above her was another bed, she was in a bunk bed?

"Where am I?" She asked, her voice came out hoarse and slurred as if she hadn't used it in ages.

"Youse in Manhattan," replied the voice, "Can ya see awright?"

"Yeah..." She replied before turning her head over to the voice, she stared at the boy in front of her.

"Tell me this is all a bad dream," she exclaimed at seeing the boy sitting beside her bed. He wore turn of the century clothing with a black cane with a silver top on it, and a slingshot poking out from his right pocket. His eyes seemed to spark with amusement, he looked like he was a year or two older than herself. His eyes were either stormy gray or blue, she couldn't tell, she'd never been too great with distinguishing colors. His shirt was the color of the a midwinter sky, his corduroy pants were brown, and boots were light brown and well worn.

"Youse alive and youse awake, finally," the boy exclaimed, "Youse been asleep now for a week."

"A week? Is everyone ok? Is Minnie ok? What about the other customers? Did the ones in the bathroom call 911? Did the cops come?"

"Woah, slow down!" The kid exclaimed as he lifted his hand, "Minnie? An' what da hell is a cop?"

"Cop, police officer," Fred replied, confused, why didn't this kid know this? Where was she? "Okay, this is a joke, my adopted...erm....Father put you up tot his didn't he? Make me wake up and think I'm dead, ha ha, Tom, real funny! I get the point, my old life came back to haunt me and nearly killed me. Come on out!"

"What are youse talkin about?" The kid asked, "I'se don't know no one named Tom. Dis ain't a joke, goil," he exclaimed, his tone deepening, "Youse were shot, youse were bleedin', da doctah was able to save ya but youse were lucky."

_I get a third chance at life....Someone must be really watching out over me....Whoever it is, thank you,_ Fred thought to herself.

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Conlon. Spot Conlon."

She stared at him and laughed.

"What's so funny?" He asked as he stood, his eyes shining with anger at being laughed at.

"Spot Conlon died in 1978! It's 2009 buddy, if I'm part of your reenactment, just tell me."

"Reenactment? Whad's that?" He asked, then shook his mind, "Nevah mind! I'se quite alive! Me names Spot Conlon!"

Fred looked around the room and recognized it as a Newsie Lodging House. There was still one standing in Brooklyn, it was an old abandoned building that people say was haunted. The furniture was the same way it looked in the history books, and she stared at the so-called Spot...She had to admit he looked just like him. She paused and looked around, no electrical outlets, nothing modern.

"Where am I or should I ask...When am I?" She whispered, her heart pounding. Time Travel was said possible but a person would have to go through a black hole in outer space. Kind of impossible to do, and scientists had no idea if a person would survive or not.

He stared, "Youse kidding? Youse don't know what year it is?"

"No. I am not joking," she replied.

"It's June, 1899."

"Oooh shit," Fred brothe out, so she wasn't crazy.

"What's youse name?"

"Fred," she replied.

"Fred? Dat weird pin of youse said yer name is Winifred."

"Pin? Oh yeah, my name badge," she replied as she reached a hand to forehead, "Yeah I work at a local grocery store. My nickname is Fred."

"Dat's a boy's name."

"Think I give a damn?" She shot back as she rubbed her temple, "Thank you for saving my life."

"Youse welcome."

"But I want to go back to my own time, I need to find a way...." She said softly before putting her elbows onto the mattress, she attempted to sit up. Her plan was ended when a huge pain traveled through her body and froze her entire right side, she cried out and fell back onto the mattress, her head spun, she began to feel sick.

"I'se said don't move!" Spot exclaimed, "Youse were shot, and youse lost a lot of blood."

"How much blood?"

"Enough ta soak through a 40 paged newspaper."

"Ah shit, that's not good."

"For a goil youse sure do cuss," he commented, "Havin' a toilet mouth don't make you tough."

"I grew up on the streets mostly, so sue me."

"So did I'se and most da kids in heah."

Fred fell silent, "Sorry, I'm sorry. I'll clean up my mouth, I swear."

"How did youse get shot? Ah youse in some kinda trouble?"

"The Grocery Store - ah, market - where I work was robbed by a guy I grew up with. When I opened the cash register drawer he thought it was a gunshot. He shot me." She said softly, Brandon shot her. She bit her lip and looked away, she shouldn't have been emotionally hurt by it. She didn't know him anymore, he was a drug addict, not worth her time according to Tom. But it hurt that the kid she had befriended and grown up with years ago had....Shot her, and almost killed her.

"Youse awright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, "Just...Glad you found me."

"Hey, she's awake!" Exclaimed a new voice.

Fred looked over at the new voice curiously, an Italian kid walked over to her. He had a young face, dark brown eyes that seemed to go on forever, and inky black pupils that looked friendly instead of terrifying. His attire reminded her of a turn of the century gambler.

"Hey dere," he greeted, "I'se Racetrack Higgins," he smiled as he reached up to his head and took off his hat before sticking the cigar he had been holding back into his mouth.

"Winifred Deverauex, friends call me Fred," she smiled.

"Heya Fred, I'se see ya met Spot heah. He's da Brooklyn Newsboy Leader."

"The most feared and respected newsboy in all of New York," Fred replied, "He's....Very interesting."

"He can be," Race replied with a smile, "Hey guys she's awake!" He exclaimed as he turned around.

Fred's eyes went huge when the room filled with more men than she had seen in her entire life in one building. Damn, this place would be any single girl's idea of heaven! She stared at each of the boys and took in the names that were quickly flying at her...Snoddy, Snitch, SnipeShooter, Specks, Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly, Mush, Kid Blink (she was almost sure there was a gangster in Murder Inc. with that same nickname), Dutchy, Bumlets, Tumbler, Boots, Pie Eater, Jake (what do you know a normal name, she thought to herself).

Then looking further a few newsgirls shouted out their names, Floaty, Jo, Alley, and Rainy.

"Ah...Hi...I'm Fred," she greeted.

"She needs a bettah nickname dan dat!" Jack exclaimed.

"I'se agree, Jacky-Boy," Spot replied with a smirk, "She's got nerve and sarcasm an' she's quick wid comebacks."

"So help me, whatever name you give me had better be good," she exclaimed, her dark brown eyes narrowing.  
"Wits?" Suggested Blink.

"Nah," replied Spot as he sat down and placed his chin in his hand, he appeared to be in deep thought.

"How 'bout we stick with Fred?" Fred asked, "It's my nickname and I like it."

"It's a boy's name, and youse need a newsie name," Spot replied, his tone filled with authority.

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" She shouted and saluted, causing every newsie to jump.

Spot's eyes narrowed, "What da hell was dat?"

"I come from...A long way away, and where I come from soldiers are very loud and clear when addressing their commanding officer," she replied.

"Oh," Spot replied, then went back into his train of thought.

_If that thing gets derailed he's screwed, _Fred thought to herself, the kid looked like he was gonna bust his head open in a moment.

---------------------------------

Racetrack Higgins stared at Fred, she seemed to want to keep her own nickname and wasn't appreciating Spot trying to change it. He wasn't sure if another name could suit her as well as Fred did. It fit her, in its own way.

"How bout we'se just leave it Fred? It's easy ta remember," he suggested.

Spot glanced at him, "No."

"I agree with Racetrack," Fred replied, "I'm keeping my nickname of Fred, I've had the nickname since I was 14! I'm not letting you - or anyone else at that - change my nickname when you've known me for only what...Ten, fifteen minutes?"

Race winced, he to admit this girl had nerve, but she needed to save that nerve to help her to survive and stop aiming it at Spot. Though he had to admit he wished the Brooklyn leader would get away from her. He wanted to be near her, talk to her, learn who she was. He didn't want this injured girl to become another one of Spot's famous 'adventures.'

"What about Blade?" Race asked, hoping she'd like the name, she seemed to be tough and any tough person would like and appreciate the name. Right?

"A vampire hunter?" She asked, then cocked her head to the side, "Blade. Hmmm...Nah, too sharp. But it was a good try, Racetrack, I'm sticking with Fred, Conlon."

"Where ah youse from?" Spot asked.

Oh no, he was going to nickname her after the place she came from. She stared at him before he caught her eye and quickly shook his head no. Athens, a newsgirl over in Queens, was named after her hometown and hated it. Each time she tried to change her nickname Spot would order the newsies to never call her by it, most listened, but some didn't.

"Whad about Athena?" Jack asked.

"No," Fred replied, obviously not amused.

Spot stared at her, "Badge?"

"No."

"Wits."

"No."

"Courage."

"No."

Race listened to all the nickname ideas and each time Fred turned them down, finally after nearly half an hour everyone agreed, her nickname was Fred.....And there was no changing it.


	2. Trust always leads to friendship, Fred

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. I own Winifred "Fred" Addams and Brandon.**_

_BANG! _

Fred gasped awake from her semi-conscious nap and her eyes widened, the only thought racing through her mind was: _Brandon's coming back to finish me off! _

"Ah, geez, I'se didn't mean to scare you," exclaimed Racetrack as he stood over her with a concerned frown on his face, "Ah youse ok?"

Fred shut her eyes and sighed in relief before nodding, the muscles throughout her body slowly began to relax. Her heart was still racing though. Her side gave another pain, she winced and tried to lean more over onto her left side.

"Don't do dat! Doc said youse had ta remain on youse back," Race exclaimed.

"I can't do nothing but lay here like a couch potato all day, Racetrack, I have to get up and do something," Fred replied. She had been stuck in the bottom bunk now for nearly two full days, concerned faces constantly hovered over her, and more than once she was certain that Spot had tried to nickname her 'Jinx' while she was in her halfway nap.

"Whad's a couch potato?" He asked, his face filled with confusion. His wide eyes still had that innocent look to them, the look that made Fred stop whatever she was doing and just stare into those eyes.

_Woah! Snap out of it girlie, you've been shot, you're not in your own time, and these kids don't know you! Now is not the time for romance! _She silently scolded herself.

"It's a person who sits on a sofa or any other piece of furniture and doesn't move. Sometimes these people are lazy, sometimes their not. Everyone is a couch potato at times, I'm just not one of those people who can sit or lay for hours on end and not do anything. I need to get up and walk around a bit."

"Not happenin', the doc said youse on strict bed rest foah two weeks ta a month, or until he's convinced youse healin' well," Race replied as he crossed his arms.

Fred groaned, just what she needed, a kid a year or two older than her playing daddy. She had to admit though it was nice having someone to care for her and not try to shoot her, throw her in jail, or shout out to her 'that thief stole my wallet!'

She couldn't take it anymore, "I know what the doctor said, but what could standing up and walking around the top level just for five minutes do?"

"Hoit youse stitches," Race replied with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm sure they're in there well," she replied, "Racetrack, I'm not going to beg. If you don't want to be around while I walk around then walk off. With or without you I'm damn well getting up and moving around."

"Youse too stubborn for youse own good!"

She stared, "Yeah, I know," she replied before pressing her hands onto the mattress and lifting herself halfway up. Her side immediately began to sting and pound with pain. Her head slowly began to spin, there was no way to ignore the feeling, but she wasn't going to damn well lie there. She threw her arms out in front of her and reached for the bed post to help pull herself up, instead Race grabbed her wrists and slowly helped her sit up.

She tightened her fingers around his wrists when blood rushed downwards and gravity took its toll.

"Youse ok? How bout youse lay down now? Youse sat up, now youse ain't a couch potato," Race exclaimed.

"No, I want to stand and walk," she replied.

"It ain't a good idea. Youse gonna hoit yerself."

Fred pulled on Racetrack's arms and started to slowly stand, her side ached again and her muscles tensed. The pain put a charlie horse to shame. She gritted her teeth and finally stood, though hunched, she took a deep breath then slowly let it out and stared down at the wooden floor. The floor boards had been worn down and scratched all over from all the shoes and feet that had been on them over the long years of the lodging house's existence. She licked her lips and fought off the nausea that had begun the moment she tried to sit up on her own.

She bit her bottom lip and forced herself to stand up straight, she felt satisfied with herself though the pain in her side was telling a different story.

"Do you all have any Laudanum?" She asked.

"Pain killas? No way, too addictin!" Race replied, "I'se seen good newsies go downright crazy wid dat stuff."

"Oh, damn," she frowned before she took a shaky step forward, her side clenched, she cried out let go of Race to press her hands over the ache.

"Dat's it!" Race exclaimed as he took her arms and helped her sit back down on the bed, after giving her a minute he braced his arm behind her back and helped her to slowly lay down, then slid her legs back onto the mattress.

"Thanks," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Next time maybe youse will listen?" He scolded.

"Yeah, maybe," she replied with a small forced smile.

-------------------------------

Racetrack looked down at Fred, he could tell she was hurting, but that was her own fault. After she was lying back down on the bed he knew she had trouble with authority. He watched as her face went from rigid and tense with pain to slowly relaxed and tired.

"How bout youse get some sleep?"

"All I've done is sleep, but it does sound good..." She muttered.

Race shoved his hands in his pockets, he wasn't sure what to make of Fred. Yesterday she had seemed very reasonable, today she was being stubborn and hard headed. Then again, she wasn't as shocked as she had been yesterday, but still jumpy. After being shot he could understand why. Every loud bang to her must have sounded like a gunshot.

He walked out of the bunkroom and climbed quickly down the stairs, it was time to sell the evening papes.

"Hey, hows she doin'?" Jack asked from the lobby where he was staring at the framed front page of The Sun. He stared proudly at his picture before glancing over to Race.

"She's stubborn and bull headed," Race replied, "She wanted ta walk around and sat up, so I'se helped heh up. I wasn't gonna let her fall flat on heh face. She took a step forward an' dat was it, I'se got her back ta bed. When I'se left da room she was fallin back to sleep."

"Spot wants heh over in Brooklyn," Jack replied.

"What? Why?" Race asked startled, "She ain't in no position ta move and dose Brooklyn newsies could eat nails! Most of dem would probably enjoy intimidatin' her while she's down an' out!"

"I'se know, dat's what I'se been tellin' Spot," Jack replied, "But if he ordahs heh ovah dere and we'se don't get outta his way...." He said as he stared at Race.

"Yeah, I'se know, da royal Spot will come in wid his newsies an' take heh himself. What's he want wid dis goil anyway? She obviously ain't rich or middle class, and she don't wear a skoit or act like any goil I'se know." Race replied.

Jack's eyebrow arched, "Sounds ta me like youse jealous."

"Jealous of who, Spot? Not in da least," Race scoffed.

"Is it dat youse jealous," Jack asked with a playful grin, "Or youse sweet on dat goil up dere?"

"I'se ain't sweet on heh! I'se just...wanna be friends wid heh and help ta take care of her, dat's all," Race replied as he smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on his vest. "Sides, Sheriff's givin' me da eye," he smirked as he thought of the newsgirl who was the leader of the Bronx Newsies.

"Uh-huh, shoah she has," Jack replied with a smirk.

"So why does Spot want heh over dere? Fred ain't in any condition ta be moved."

"He's Spot," Jack replied, "Don't dat say it all? Who knows what goes through his mind."

"I've been asking that same thing myself," replied Alley as she walked out of the downstairs washroom. "He's Spot, Race, you know that. What he wants he gets."

"Als, youse really close ta Spot," Jack exclaimed, "He sweet on Fred?"

"I don't know if he likes her or if he's just simply fascinated by her," Alley replied with a shrug.

"Out of da two what's yer best guess?" Race asked.

Alley frowned and thought about it for a moment, "Well she's just as stubborn as he is for one, and she's obviously not afraid of authority figures, also she's almost as intimidating as he is when she gives that glare of hers. I'd say they were like two peas in a pod."

Race groaned.

"Did I say something wrong?" Alley asked in concern.

Jack laughed, "Nah, Race is just sweet on Fred."

"Oh dear," Alley frowned, "Well Race, I wish you the best of luck if you're going up against Spot. But really, I think whoever she decides to be with, if anyone, it should be her choice and hers only. You men need to remember that she's a wounded woman who was shot, she's not going to be the most trusting person in the world right now."

"Yeah, youse right," Race replied with a small frown.

"Well, anyway, I was going through that bag you all found under the distribution center's ramp yesterday," Alley exclaimed, "She doesn't seem to have much though I did find this," she frowned, "It's her diary, I erm...Read it....I thought maybe I could get to know her a little better, befriend her so she didn't feel like she was the only girl in the world. But...She was on the streets for a long time, you fellas. She pick pocketed and from everything I've read she feels really guilty and doesn't believe she earned a second chance in life."

"Everyone deserves a second chance, 'cept da Delancey bruddas, Weasel, and Snydah," replied Jack.

"Wheah youse goin'?" Race asked when Alley headed towards the doors to the lodging house.

"Back to Brooklyn, Sport's here to escort me back to the lodging house," Alley replied with a small smile.

"Als, could ya talk Spot outta takin' Fred ta Brooklyn, please?" Race asked.

Alley paused, "You know Spot, Race....But I'll try....Though I can't promise anything."

-----------------------------

"She's comin' to Brooklyn, Alley, and dat's dat," Spot replied an hour later. He looked outside, the full moon hung low in the sky and made shadows cast in his room.

"Spot, why not just leave her in Manhattan? She's very happy there and the Manhattan newsies all seem very fond of her. She might grow to be close to Race--uh--Jack like I'm close to you."

Spot froze. Race. He turned and stared at Alley.

"Youse tellin' me it ain't Jacky-Boy whose sayin' no it's Racetrack?" He asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"I...He's becoming friends with her and she's at ease with him, Spot. She talks to him and she's starting to trust him."

"She trusts me too," Spot replied.

"I didn't know 'you call me Jinx again and I'll twist your nose off' meant trust," Alley replied with an arched eyebrow.

"So she's fiesty! She'll get ovah it," Spot retorted stubbornly as he crossed his arms.

Alley groaned, "You don't even know this girl, why are you so intent on having her over here?"

"Because I'se want heh ta be."

"Or is it because you like her and knowing that there's a newsie in Manhattan who likes her and is getting close to her threatens your chances with her?" Alley asked, when Spot's mouth opened she threw her hands into the air, "Men! I will never understand you all. That girl is hurt and from what it seems to me the most thing she wants to do is just learn to survive and make a few friends and find her way home."

Spot stood nose to nose with Alley before slamming the tip of his cane down onto the floorboards, "She's comin' ta Brooklyn, Alley. She's tougher than Jacky-Boy's newsies, someone like dat belongs in Brooklyn. She's comin ta Brooklyn, and she's stayin' in Brooklyn."

"Why don't you ask her where she wants to be?"

"Goodnight Alley," Spot replied as he opened his bedroom door.

"Where is she going to stay?"

"In my room."

"How about in mine?"

"She's stayin in heah wid me," Spot replied slowly, "Goodnight."

Alley groaned when she stepped out of the room and the door was quickly shut. Men! What was it Fred had said when she heard Jack and Spot arguing earlier? Oh yes, 'Testosterone spill on aisles 5-15.'

------------------------

The next morning Fred crossed her arms and glared at the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, "I'm not going anywhere," she retorted, "I'm staying here, you try to move me and you'll be known as Spot-No-Britches. After all people in power hate being caught with their pants down."

Spot gritted squared his jaw, "Don't youse evan threaten me, goil," he growled as he waved the top of his cane around in her face.

Annoyance creeped through Fred until she grabbed the cane and shoved it him, "Don't you wave that thing in my face, buster. I know in the newsie world you're someone to be highly respected, but I'm not one of your newsies. If I become a newsie, which I probably will when I can move again, I'll be a Manhattan newsie. So get off your high horse and come back down to Earth with the rest of us."

Spot slammed the bottom of his cane down on the floor, harder than he had the first time.

Fred's eyes widened as she stared at Spot, he turned into Brandon right in front of her eyes. He sneered at her before lifting his gun.

No. No. Brandon wasn't in this time, she forced herself to calm down until Brandon slowly faded away leaving the arrogant Spot Conlon behind.

"Dere, I'se glad to get youse attention," he exclaimed, "Now listen heah goil, yeah youse gettin' good care heah. I'se won't argue dat, but in me lodgin house youse can get up and walk around."

"Da doctor said-" Jack started.

"Jacky-Boy," Spot exclaimed, not once turning to glance at him.

Fred glanced over Spot's shoulder and watch the Manhattan Newsboy Leader fall silent, a look that said 'Sorry, I tried' crossing over his face.

"I'se been shot befoah and in da same place, in da right side. It hoits like hell, yeah youse need bedrest, but youse also need ta move around. And when we'se out sellin' papes Alley will look after youse and keep youse company, if youse want Jack can come too."

"How about Race?" Fred asked and was surprised to see Spot look annoyed, almost angry, at the mere mention of the idea of Racetrack staying in Brooklyn with them.

"If youse....Want," he replied.

"Yeah, I'll go over there if Race walks with us and visits now and then."

---------------------------

"I'se can stay foah a while," Race replied, every fiber in his being knew he was going to regret going up against Spot Conlon, but he was fighting for the girl he was falling for. Also her being in a lodging house full of those tougher newsboys and not being able to defend herself...That idea he hated.

-------------------------

Spot gritted his teeth, damn Racetrack. Race was a good friend and like all newsies he respected Brooklyn, but he was too damned close to Fred. The moment Spot had seen this girl he had liked her, he wasn't going to say he was willing to soak another newsie or die for her; those extents he wasn't about to go too.

He watched as Race helped Fred to stand up, and when the two didn't let go of each other he felt his temper go through the roof.

----------------------

Fred, meanwhile, was focusing on standing and not screaming out in pain. Her wound still hurt like hell, though the pain had gone down a small notch from the day before. She looked up and found Race and Spot glaring at each other, the kind of glares two guys got when fighting over a pretty girl.

"Hey you two knuckle heads, are we gonna walk or are we going to stand here all day glaring at each other until we know how many skin cells each other has?" She asked.

Race and Spot both jumped before Race let go of her arms and took hold of her left arm as Spot took hold of her right arm. At a slow pace they walked out of the bunkroom, in Fred's case shuffled. These guys didn't know much, well nothing really, about her and therefore had no right to go off fighting each other over her.

She wanted to get home, but until she could she'd learn to survive, make friends, and sell papes. Though it was so damned hard to trust some of these people. Race had been somewhat easy to trust, he was kind and gentle. Though Fred still kept her eye on him none the less. People never showed their true colors upon the first meeting, it was going to take a while for her to trust Race.

Spot, on the other hand, she wasn't sure if she would ever trust. Damned kid thought he could control her? Next time he went off with the idea of waving that cane of his in her face or slamming it down on the floor she'd leave him with a damned good shiner and a bloody nose. She got the fact he wasn't someone you wanted for an enemy, but he had to understand that she wasn't one of those girls who could be easily controlled. She had depended on herself all her life and be damned the man who went off treating her like she didn't know what she wanted.

Race respected her wishes and respected the fact she was stubborn and independent, he got the idea to back off after a while. Spot, however, kept refusing to learn this lesson. What was she going to have to do, hammer it into him?

"Stairs," Race frowned.

"Mush," Spot commented simply, "Mind walkin' wid us ta Brooklyn? Can ya pick Fred up."

"Excuse me?" Fred asked, "Give me a minute and I'll get down the stairs --" She didn't get a chance to finish that sentence, Mush swooped her up into his arms as if she was as light as a feather.

"Youse gotta admit, it's moah comfortable dan youse side hurtin," he said kindly.

"That's true," she replied with a small smile. Mush was another newsie along with Blink she was beginning to Trust. Mush, from what she had observed was a genuine sweet heart. He cared for everyone and always did whatever he could to help. She couldn't see the newsboy harming a fly. Which was odd for her to think, since she could envision every person harming a fly.

He carried her down the stairs, she winced whenever she bounced in his arms.

"Sorry," he frowned, "I'se goin' slow."

"No, no, you're fine," she replied, "Really you're fine."

At the base of the stairs he gently set her down. Kloppman stood behind his desk with a frown on his face, but didn't comment. Fred had been hoping he would, she guessed the newsies were just as stubborn as she was and wouldn't listen to the older man.

"Ready ta go?" Spot asked.

"No." Fred replied quite frankly.

"Good, let's go."

"Oh, bite me," Fred muttered under her breath before she shuffled forward.

---------------------------------

Spot still couldn't figure out for the life of him why Fred wanted him to bite her. Then again it could be one of those weird expressions she was constantly using. He kept his arm wrapped firmly around her right arm, they were halfway across the Brooklyn bridge. It had been two long hours, but Spot understood, the girl hurt like hell. Not once though did he hear a complaint or cry from her.

He glanced over at Race who was chatting with her about poker, telling her what to look out for in her opponent's face, and mentioned that he was the best poker play of them all.

_Far from it, Higgins, _Spot thought to himself.

"Youse know I'se could teach youse how to fight," Spot exclaimed.

Fred suddenly stopped in her tracks.

"You assume since I'm a girl I don't know how to fight?" She questioned, her eyes regaining that fire in them that constantly made Spot freeze in place.

"No, I'se just didn't know," he replied.

"So tell me, why did you assume I don't know how to fight? I know you all know my background, I heard Skittery saying you all found my diary, which I want you to know is an invasion of my privacy. I lived on the streets until I was sixteen, so yeah I know how to fight."

"Youse jist don't know how ta choose yer fights," Spot retorted.

"I know how to pick my fights."

"If youse did youse wouldn't be pickin' one now," Spot replied, Fred stared at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she looked away and began to shuffle forward again.

---------------------

Race winced at the small argument, he could tell from the moment Spot and Fred met the two weren't going to get along. Both had too similar personalities, they both were more stubborn than mules, and the two were both on high horses. Race wasn't usually sweet on girls like Fred, he tried to stay away from them due to the fact that they were basically a female Spot. One Spot was enough!

"Are dere newsies wheah youse come from?" He asked, wanting to ease the tension in the air.

"A few, but not many," she replied, "Newsies where I come from ride bicycles and throw newspapers on front lawns," she smiled.

"Deys don't shout out da headlines or try ta sell dem?" Race and Spot both asked in shocked unison.

"The newspaper center hires and pays them," she replied, "And where I come from a person usually either has the paper delivered to them in the mail, buys it from a metal box, or from the market." She shrugged, "It's just...Different, that's all."

---------------------------------------------

It was nearly lunch time when they reached the Brooklyn lodging house. Fred stared at it, it looked just the same way as it did in her time, only slightly newer. The red bricks and the fire escaped made the building look more like an office building than a lodging house. The windows were cracked and almost seemed sad. She had always viewed the building as it holding its breath waiting for its original owners to return, but they never would.

She shuffled in through the wooden door with Spot and Race, they had to walk sideways to enter. The wooden door was chipped and the paint was peeling from it, near the door handle a tiny spider scurried to the safety of one of the door's holes.

Fred couldn't blame it, she wanted to be back in Manhattan right now. But she had been the one who had given up and agreed to come to Brooklyn, she had no one to blame but herself. She squared her jaw slightly, she had to admit this was better then her own apartment... Which was basically a hole in the wall in a large apartment complex. After Tom went undercover she moved out of his house and into her own apartment, not because she wanted too but because she had too. She wasn't going to make his bills go through the roof.

Her apartment building was quite interesting, an arms dealer lived in the elevator; a crooked 'collector' lived in the apartment next door and was the best 'guard dog' a person could ever ask for; and just to top all that off they had a man who was convinced he was Bozo the clown living on the second story.

She looked around the lodging house, "Nice place," she said truthfully, "A lot better than mine."

"Youse got yer own place?" Race asked.

"Yeah, but it's known for its giant rats, cockroaches, holes in the walls, drug dealers, an illegal gun dealer living in the elevator." She replied.

Spot blinked, "Damn, dat's bad, how do youse survive?"

Fred smiled, "We watch over each other, the good people I mean, and we're there for each other when needed. A lot like you guys."


	3. Meet Tom & Poor Spot's Nose

_**Disclaimer: I do not own newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. Priest and Alley Cat belong to one of my best friends. I own Fred, and she's based off another one of my best friends. :D I own Thomas "Tom" O'Brady, I do not own the Addams Family. **_

He ran past the Emergency Room's doctors and nurses, his heart pounding. His eyes scanned the long hallway for his family.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

Tom spun to the shouting nurse behind him, "I need to know where Winifred Addam's room is!"

"Sir, I can't give you that information until I know who you are--"

"I'm her older foster brother, Detective Thomas O'Brady," he replied quickly, as he scanned the hospital level. Families, but not his, were gathered as they waited to hear news about their loved ones. IV Pumps beeped loudily and steadily; nurses rushed around as a gurney sped past, doctors and nurses wheeled it towards two large white doors.

"Alright, Detective O'Brady," the nurse exclaimed, "My name is Patricia, I'm the head nurse...You're sister is in surgery, your parents are already here."

"What happened?" He asked.

"Tom?"

He turned, "Pop," he exclaimed before walking towards his father, who was still almost just as tall as he had been years ago. The two exchanged a quick hug before Tom stared at him, "What happened? We just caught our guys when an officer-"

"Fred's been shot," his father replied, his sky blue eyes filled with concern as he put his hand onto his son's shoulder.

"Shot...Where was she?" He asked with a frown, before he had left for undercover, Fred had been living in the small but safe and nice apartment he had rented for her. He didn't have the money to afford it, but the owner of the apartment house was a buddy of his. Tom paid rent once every other two months, the rest of the time Fred paid her rent.

"At work," his father replied, "Minnie told the police that Brandon kid walked in demanding money from her, she refused to give it to him. After that Brandon takes out his gun, shoots the ceiling, then Fred."

Tom wanted to smack his forehead, instead he settled for pacing back and forth. How many times had he told her, if someone came in holding a gun to give them the money? Why did that girl have to be so damned stubborn all the time?

"Have the doctors said anything?" He asked as he continued to pace, he had to do something to keep himself from going out and trying to find that kid. Damn Brandon!

"Not yet, we just got here before you came. She's been back there for almost a half hour now..." his father replied, "They did catch Brandon."

"He had better be sentenced to lock up for the rest of his damned life, if she dies then he should be put to-"

"Mr. O'Brady?"

The two O'Brady men turned and watched as a small Asian American doctor walked into the room. Tom recognized her as Dr. Mallorie, she was the best surgeon in this side of New York. She was confidant, knew what she was doing, and extremely careful.

"Please...Tell us how she is," Exclaimed Tom's mother as she walked into the room and molded herself to her husband. Unlike his father, his mother hadn't aged well, she had survived two bouts of Breast Cancer, and now she had Bone Cancer. She small and frail in body, however in spirit, she was stronger than his father at times.

"I won't lie to you all, the bullet hit a major artery in her side," Dr. Mallorie exclaimed, "The bullet pierced an artery then bounced from her backbone into her left lung. Her lung is flooded with blood, I don't think we're going to be able to save it. We've stitched the artery."

"What are her chances?" Tom's father questioned.

"We're optimistic, hundreds of people survive with only one lung, as long as she gets plenty of rest and is easy with herself we think she'll be alright," Dr. Mallorie replied.

"But you're not certain," Tom frowned.

She glanced at him, "When one's a doctor, Detective, it's never safe to assume the patient in question will be alright. But even after the surgery I'll be keeping a close eye on her, I promise."

"Damn it, Fred, you had better survive through this," Tom muttered to himself and pushed his right hand through his curly dark brown hair.

"There's nothing more we can do but to pray," his mother said softly, "And all three of us know how stubborn Fred is. I cannot see her returning to the good Lord without a fight."

----------------------------------------------------

Fred looked around the room she had been taken into, she hadn't bothered to look around it before. She had been in pain and exhausted, she still was in pain however now that she had slept she was wide awake. The room she was in wasn't large, yet it wasn't overly small, it was somewhere around almost medium. There were two beds, the one she was lying in, and the one above her that creaked, letting her know someone else was in the room with her.

The next thing she became aware of was the fact she was no longer in her own clothing. She was wearing a white and light blue striped button down shirt; brown corduroy pants; and her feet were bare. Her eyes widened, what about her watch? She reached around her neck and patted around, then calmed when her hand landed on a small pocket watch that was meant to be worn as a necklace. It was the only thing she had - and was able to keep throughout all these years - that belonged to her mother that she barely remembered.

"You're awake," exclaimed a cheery feminine voice from over in the corner of the room.

Fred jumped, she hadn't known there was another person, besides the one above her, in the room. She looked over to find Alley walking towards her. Alley was a short woman of maybe a little over five feet, around Fred's height, she wore an ankle length brown skirt, white blouse, and brown vest. Her dark brown hair was braided and hung over her left shoulder.

"Alley...Right?"

"Yes," she replied with a nod.

"Whose sleeping above me?" Fred asked.

"Spot, this is his room," she replied, "Race is over in the next room. I was just coming in to see if you had woken up yet. You've been asleep now since you arrived here."

"What time is it?"

"I think you mean to ask what day is it," Alley smiled.

"D...Day? How long did I sleep?" Fred asked in surprise.

"Most of yesterday and part of today, Spot just got back an hour ago from selling his newspapers. You needed the rest."

"You should have woken me up, I'm going to be awake all night now and you all are going to grow sick of me," she replied.

Alley paused, "We did wake you up...Don't you remember?"

Fred paused and thought hard, "I think I remember one time, Racetrack was standing over me and kept saying something about eating."

"Yes, he woke you up for lunch earlier today. You ate your hot dog along with his."

"I'm sorry," Fred replied, she truly meant it. She knew what it was like to barely be able to afford food for yourself, then pay for another's only to have the other eat both meals. She found herself thinking about the time Emmaline had pick pocketed and bought Fred, Brandon, and herself lunch. Brandon had been starving at the time, he had been pick pocketing around town and hiding from the cops, he hadn't eaten since the middle of the day before. He ate everyone's lunch including his own, leaving Emmaline and her starving.

"It's alright, Racetrack laughed and said he was glad you were finally eating something, we all were glad," Alley smiled, "And Spot had bought extra for Racetrack just incase his meal was taken from him."

"She awake?"

"Yes, Spot, Fred's awake," Fred replied as she referred to herself in third person.

"About time," he replied as he leaned down from the top bunk and stared at her.

Fred blinked, there was something disturbing about an upside down Spot Conlon...Maybe it was the fact she could see his nose hairs? Or was it the fact that when his hair hung downwards in mid air he reminded her of Cousin It from the Addams Family? However she did have to admit, he was kinda cute.

_Spot Conlon is kinda cute? They drugged me for me to think that!_ Fred thought to herself as she edged away towards the wall a little as much as she could. She was surprised that the pain in her side had went from a loud, shrieking, and nearly paralyzing pain down to a dull roar in such a short amount of time.

"Mind hanging that nose of yours somewhere else?" Fred questioned, "It's poking my eye out."

"Hah hah," Spot replied in sarcasm, "So Dat's how youse t'ank someone whose keepin' youse safe and takin' care of youse?"

"No, I don't thank people like that. Spot thank you for taking care of me though the next time you keep after me to move out of a lodging house until I say yes I'll beat you over the head with that cane of yours," she replied.

"No one threatens Spot Conlon," he exclaimed, before he could finish Fred was pinching his nose shut.

"And no one sticks a nose full of boogers into Fred's face," Fred replied. Two could play at this game of referring-to-one's-self-in-third-person.

"Get yer hand off me nose!" He exclaimed, his voice nasally and higher a pitch sending herself and Alley into a fit of giggles.

"It ain't funny!" Spot exclaimed as he tried to pull away, Fred pinched harder.

"I'll let go when you agree to my terms."

"Terms? What terms?" Spot asked, his eyes narrowing giving her a look she guessed would scare the pants off of most people. But she wasn't most people. On the streets in her own time she had seen much worse than a glare. She had seen dead bodies, she'd even been the witness to a murder once when she was 15, however the shooter was shot by a rival gang member later that day.

"These terms, in order: One, you will _never_ try to give me a nickname again; second, You'll stop treating me as if I'm a possession and not a person; and thirdly and lastly of all, I'll damned well be friends with whomever I wish too. I'm friends with Racetrack, you ever try to get in the middle of any of my friendships -especially the one I have with Racetrack - again, I will make it my life's mission to make your life a living hell."

Alley backed away a few steps looking nervous.

Fred ignored and glared right at Spot, never losing eye contact. His lips pursed in anger as he stared at her, his gaze becoming so cold Fred began to feel chills down her spine.

"Youse in me lodgin house," he exclaimed slowly and in a low tone of voice after Fred had released his nose, "Youse go by me rules. Da day youse run youse own lodgin' house I'se will go by yer rules. But as far as I see it, any newsie dat makes you deir leader is stupid. Youse stubborn, bull headed, rude, arrogant, and don't give a damn about who youse speakin' too, and youse bettah. I'se Spot Conlon, if I'se tell every newsie ta stay away from ya, den dey will, including Racetrack. It's me who will make youse life a livin' hell, youse undahstand me, goil?" He replied as he glared at her.

"Funny," Fred replied, "You just described yourself."

---------------------------

Spot stared at Fred, what the hell?! He had given her the biggest threat one could ever give a newsie or any other street kid at that! Instead of being terrified, which was supposed to be the outcome, she simply stared at him with a raised eyebrow and replied, 'You just described yourself perfectly.'

He lifted himself back up onto his own bunk, for once, speechless. How the hell was he supposed to reply to her last statement? He was Brooklyn! He was the toughest newsie in all of New York and in the Walking Mouth's words, 'Probably everywhere else too.'

This girl...She was something else, she wasn't like any other newsie he had ever run across. Which also made her a danger, he knew the smart thing would be to ship her off to New Jersey or to somewhere far from New York. But the larger part of him wouldn't think of it, she was tough, streetwise, smart,...Had a mouth larger than Davey's on her....But there was just something about her that made her stand out from all the other newsgirls and girls.

He wasn't going to say he wanted her as his girl, then again she was like him and having two Brooklyns instead of just one would probably keep Harlem in line. Maybe. He wasn't sure if there was any order to that borough. The Harlem leader, Priest, was power hungry and was damned determined to be the new Brooklyn. But he had been that way for years and hadn't made his move as of yet, however, Spot still kept a close eye on him.

Now he had another potential enemy in his own room, one lying in the bed below him. However, being wounded and having no idea where she was made her less of a threat. If she was a threat then why the hell were these thoughts running through his head? What was wrong with him? He only thought of middle class girls in this way, not newsgirls.

"Fred, are you alright?" Alley's voice asked.

"Whad's wrong wid heh?" Spot asked as he leaned over his bunk again, this time keeping his hand over nose as a shield. He would never make that mistake again.

Fred was lying perfectly still and was gritting her teeth.

"Youse hoitin' again?" He asked her.

"Something's wrong and I don't know what," Fred replied, her voice sounding truly afraid, which concerned Spot. Since the moment she first woke up in the Manhattan Lodging House she hadn't been afraid. Why now?

"What is it?" Alley asked in concern.

"I don't know...I....I feel as if I can't breathe, but I'm breathing, it's....It's as if I'm short of breath but at the same time...My side aches."

"Cause youse were shot."

"No, I was shot near my stomach, the pain is here....And this pain is all the way up and over to my left side where my lung is."

"To where youse what is?" Spot asked in confusion. What was a lung?

Fred paused and stared up at him, "I forgot," she muttered, "Think of two balloons, when you blow air into a balloon it expands, when you breathe the air back in it becomes smaller again. That's the same thing lungs do, everyone has two lungs, and both gather in air and put oxygen into the blood."

"How do youse know awll dis?" Spot asked.

"Learned in school."

"Da Walkin' Mouth had school but nevah learned of no....'Lung'."

"Walking...Mouth?" Fred asked before she apparently forgot the pain in her other side and began to laugh hysterically.

"What? Dat's Jacky-Boy's second in command's nickname? Da Walkin' Mouth, if youse met him youse would agree wid me!"

Fred's laughter only became louder and harder.

"Youse gonna pop a stitch," Spot grumbled. He heard a snicker and a muffled snort and glanced down towards Alley with his eyebrow raised. Her hands were covering her nose and mouth and she was snickering hard, it was the first time in a long time he had seen her laugh. Well, that was one damned good reason to keep Fred around, she could make Alley laugh.

"Ow! Ow! Ok, laughing hard is bad," Fred exclaimed before giggling again.

"Hey, am I'se hearin' t'ings or is Fred laughin'?" Racetrack asked as he walked in.

Spot wanted to mentally groan to himself, he had finally made Fred laugh and got to see her smile a true smile for once. He was actually, in a way, getting to know her when Race just had to walk in. Ruining everything.

"Hey Race," Fred greeted happily, Spot glanced down at her and hid his frown with a smirk trying to act as if nothing bothered him. Though the only thing he could wonder to himself was: _Why doesn't she smile like dat foah me?_

----------------------------------------------

Race had been about to call it a night when he heard Fred laughing, he wasn't sure if he was hearing things or not. But sure enough when he walked in she and Alley were giggling. However the moment he opened his mouth Spot had stiffened from his hanging off the bunk bed act. He was sitting back on his bed now glaring at Race as if he had betrayed Brooklyn some how.

He ignored Spot for the moment and walked over to Fred.

"How ya feelin?"

"Better," she replied, "Sorry about your hot dog."

"Eh, it ain't a problem, I just stole part of Spot's lunch," He joked.

"Do not believe her when she says she's feeling better, Racetrack Higgins," Alley exclaimed after she had caught her breath, "She has a pain in her left side around her lung."

"Around heh what?"

"See!" Spot exclaimed so suddenly Race nearly found himself jumping into Alley's arms. "I'se told youse dat 'lungs' ain't normal knowledge!" Spot puffed out his chest like a proud red robin proudly showing its feathers off to a female.

Fred rolled her eyes, "Isn't there an off switch on him?"

"No," Alley and Race replied at the same time.

"Believe me," Alley smirked, "I've tried for over 10 years to find one and I haven't had any luck."

Fred bit the side of her lip and glared up at Spot, "Hey Spot."

"What?"  
"You have a big nose."

Race wasn't sure whether to laugh, hide, or groan.

"Oh come on you two! Grow up!" Alley groaned, "Fred, please, don't sink down to his level of maturity that he's stuck on. He's like a five year at times and I have a hard time watching him, I don't need two to keep my eye on!"

Fred chuckled, "Alright, I'll shut up now."

Race glanced up at Spot, he didn't seem offended by Alley's comment at the least. _If he should be chasin' any goil he should be chasin' Alley. Da goils been wid him foah years and knows him bettah dan his own mother does._

"I'se was wonderin if youse feel up ta walkin?" Race asked.

"After the other day," Fred frowned.

"Come on, it will be good foah youse, unless youse scared," Spot challenged.

Race wanted to strangle the Brooklyn leader more than anything at the moment. But Fred didn't seem at least affected by the remark.

She sat up slowly and refused anyone's help before carefully standing on her own two feet. Race wasn't to shake his head and tell Fred to stop giving Spot what he wanted. However, what he hadn't been expecting was for the girl to grab Spot's ankle, which was now dangling over the edge of the bed, and tug him.

"Hey! Whad do youse t'ink youse doin?" Spot snapped as he grabbed hold of his bed post and flailed his leg around, trying to get her hands off his ankle.

"Are you afraid of a little exercise, Spot? If a girl who was shot can pull you half way out of this bunk, then a strong healthy guy like you should be able to get up."

"I'se been sellin' papes all day!" Spot retorted.

"Poor baby," Fred replied with a tone of mock sympathy, "In my job I stand up for 8-10 or more hours straight each day."

"Sounds borin'," Race commented.

"It's mind numbing," Fred replied, "But I'm lucky to have my job....I really am."

----------------------------

It had nearly been 3 hours since Dr. Mallorie's last check in, Tom was beginning to think about barging into the operating room and demanding to know how Fred was. As if reading his mind, Dr. Mallorie came out of the operating room, Tom's stomach twisted.

She walked towards him with a frown on her face.

"What is it?" He asked softly, and glanced down at the bench his parents were still sitting on, both asleep.

Dr. Mallorie paused, "You best sit down, Detective."

Tom sat, not liking the look on the doctor's face, or the feeling in his gut. The feeling that he should be going to say goodbye to Fred. He had been a big brother to that girl for nearly a year now, she had been a brat and a criminal at first. But she straightened out, became a great kid. He had become attached to her, to him she was his little sister.

"We had to take your sister's left lung."

"Oh God," he whispered.

"Hundreds of people live with only one lung and their doing great, just as good as you and me," Dr. Mallorie assured, "What I came to tell you is that she will be physically alright....I just don't know when she's going to wake up," she replied, "She's in a deep a coma, it could be hours, a day or two, months..."

Tom nodded, "She will. She's stubborn. She'll wake up and probably be on the phone ordering a pizza when my back is turned."

Dr. Mallorie smiled, "She survived the surgery, she's strong, and when she does order a pizza let me know, I'll pay for it."

Tom chuckled, "Will do."


	4. A talk with Tom & We broke the rule

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. I own Sport, Fred, Tom, Dr. Linda Mallorie, and Brandon. I do not own Alley and Sheriff, they belong to a friend of mine. :)**_

_**(A/N: "Return to Innocence" fanfiction trailer is now up on Youtube. Just do a search for DimensionalTraveller and newsies, or DimensionalTraveller and Return to Innocence. :) Or you can go to my profile and copy and paste the link under fanfiction trailers. )**_

"Detective, you've been here all day, you need to go home and get some rest."

Tom looked up as Dr. Mallorie entered the waiting room, he shook his head, "Nah...I need to stay, incase she wakes up."

"Detective -"

"Tom, I insist," Tom replied, he wasn't on duty and didn't need to be called 'Detective.' Also this was Fred's doctor, the woman who'd be watching over his sister and caring for her until she woke up.

She sat down in one of the dark blue chairs beside him and set her clipboard into her lap, "It's not healthy for you to be here all day. I know you're worried, but I'm going to tell you the same thing I tell all my patients' families, go home. Get rest. The moment your sister even twitches I'll be on the phone to you. I have your apartment's number, as well as your parents', and I can reach you at the police station..."

"You don't have my cell phone number," he replied as he leaned over onto his left side and pulled his wallet from his right back pocket. He paused as he stared at the small leather wallet with a Chinese Dragon engraved on the front. Fred had bought it for him for Christmas using her own money and had put a note inside thanking him for all he had done for her and that, if it was alright with him, she'd rather think of him as her brother instead of 'adopted brother'. He had been honored.

He shook his head and cleared his mind before pushing the rim of his glasses up his nose. He grabbed one of his cards and handed it to Dr. Mallorie.

"Here's all my phone numbers, doctor," he said as he handed her the card.

"Linda," Dr. Mallorie replied, "I insist. You can reach me here at the hospital, if I'm not here they'll page me with your number."

He nodded, "Great.....Doc -- Lisa, Fred....Her heart beat...it's steady...Right?"

Linda paused, "It is....Officially I can't let you see her for another few hours, but...You've been here an entire day. I'll take you to her room."

He nodded as he stood and followed her through the waiting room and past the Emergency Room; he walked down a long hallway filled with doors. Some doors' windows revealed empty rooms, others showed worried families sitting with their family members. Finally they turned the corner and walked into the hallway for the Intensive Care Unit, Linda led him into the first room to the left.

Tom walked into the room after Linda and froze, he had known it was going to be hard to see Fred hooked up to IV's, but he had no idea how hard....He swallowed as he forced himself to look at her again.

She was lying on the hospital bed, a pulse ox was wrapped around her index finger a small green light blinking with each heart beat. She had two IV's that ran into a pick line in one of her veins. She was so pale, her dyed light red hair looked more like a dying fire than it did sunlight. Her natural hair color was a dark shade of ash brown, but she wanted to change her hair color, it was her way of 'leaving the past behind.'

"Her pulse is steady," Linda said, dragging him from his thoughts, "And she's breathing well on her own."

Tom paused, "I always tell her that she's one of the surviving kids from the streets...You know what she always said to that?"

"What does she tell you?"

"That she isn't a survivor.....She's just strong and stubborn....Then she tells me 'street life isn't easy, it's not 'ooh look at that poor child' as you see in the Oliver Twist movies. She says street life is hard, and that by the age of 13 you have to be mentally 16. You grow up fast on your own, if you don't...." He shook his head, "She always stopped there."

Linda paused, "That's very moving....I had no idea how many children were on the streets...How long was she on the streets for and how did she get food and money?"

"There's more homeless kids than you could count, some with their families, some on their own. She and the guy who shot her ran away when she was 14. She lived on the streets for three years, until her 16th birthday." He paused, "I had been assigned to Maple street that day, it's one of the worst areas of town, I was to go there undercover. People were constantly giving reports that their wallets, watches, purses, and other personal effects were going missing without them even noticing. I had been there for almost the entire morning when this little brunette walks past me, at first I thought nothing of it until I went to check the time." He paused, "The girl was good she had walked past without me even noticing and took my damned watch, I know she had slowed down, I thought she was looking at something."

"Did you arrest her?"

Tom paused, "I ran after her, caught her, she fought me tooth and nail, left me a few good scratches and a large black eye. I booked her and let her sit in jail for a week to think of what she'd done. I dropped by her 'cage' as she called it and checked in on her at least 3 to 4 times on her. Then at her hearing the judge wanted to send her to the juvenile detention center, now her record states she was there at 13 after hitting her foster father - whose now in jail for raping a young girl. I talked to her lawyer and then to the judge and the judge released Winifred into my custody. The first 4 or 5 months was like a living hell to tell you the truth," he chuckled, "She hated me. She made quick remarks any time she could find the chance; she was sarcastic, snide, and ungrateful. Then in July....It changed. I came home from work figuring 'best get ready for another night of attitude' and she was making dinner."

"Wow." Linda replied wide eyed, "I wonder where the change of heart came from."

"For the life of me, I don't know," he replied as he shook his head, "She dished up dinner and said we needed to talk. She admitted to me that she hated my guts at first, but then said she didn't realize how lucky she truly was to be adopted by a cop who had gotten her off the streets instead of keeping her penned in some little cage."

"Did she apologize?"

"Not until her 17th birthday," he replied with a smirk, "But after that dinner we both started getting along and grew as close as a brother and sister are."

Tom looked down at Fred, "Everyone calls her Fred, she insists on being called that," he paused, "I really want her to wake up, Linda."

"I do too," she replied, "It helps when family and friends come in to talk to the patient, read to them, involve them. They can hear you....I'll leave you alone in here to talk to her. You can drop by after visiting hours, I know you work long hours. I'll leave a note with the head nurse."

"Thanks," Tom replied with a smile.

She nodded and paused, she opened her mouth to say something but quickly shook her head.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," she replied with a small smile before quickly leaving the room.

Tom shook his head and looked down at Fred, "Fred, you women are a constant mystery, I want you to know that."

------------------------------------------

_"I got off undercover duty...I didn't know you had been shot...I was coming to swing by O'Brady's Groceries and take you out to dinner and see what's new." Tom smiled as he sat at the table across from her._

_Fred beamed, "I missed you so much, how did the undercover work go? I was worried you wouldn't come back..." She paused and bit her lip, "I never got to tell how you how sorry I was for being such a brat..."_

_"When I found out you had been shot....Man, my heart musta just leaped outta my chest, Fred. I wanted to find and kill the bastard who did this to you...Then I was told it was Brandon, and they had him in custody....However he somehow has some slick attorney, and I don't know how he got this snake to work for him, he only works for the big time pin stripes, catch my meaning?" He paused as he scratched his chin, "All I can think of is someone in the underworld is taking an interest in him, I swear to you Fred, I am not going to let him walk, if I have to stay near that register where you were shot for a week on end finding evidence so help me, I'll do it."_

_Fred paused and felt her stomach churn, Brandon had a lawyer that could possibly get him off the hook? No! That couldn't be! He couldn't walk, he couldn't! Tom was good, and he'd make sure that wouldn't happen._

_"I know you won't let him walk, Tom. About your undercover work did you catch the guy?" She asked._

_"Mom and dad have been here most of the day in the waiting room too, your doctor, Dr. Mallorie, she's a good doctor....Best in most of New York." He paused, "I have to tell you though....Dr. Mallorie says you can hear me even though you're asleep..." He licked his lips looking almost uneasy, "The bullet didn't only hurt your side, it punctured a hole in your left lung and busted an artery. They got the artery sewed up, but they had to remove your left lung...I'm so sorry sis."_

_"Tom, why aren't you listening to me?" Fred asked in frustration as he leaned over the small square table that was settled in middle of Spot's room. She waved he hand in front of Tom's face, "Tom! Please!" Then she paused, her left lung was gone? Oh God...The pain she had earlier...That must have been her lung being removed....But if her lung had been removed and she could hear Tom that meant...She was in a coma? Spot, Alley, Race, they were all...illusions?_

_No, they weren't, she had seen their pictures in her history book in the third grade. And if she was asleep she wasn't supposed to be able to feel things, yet she did. Then she remembered reading a book by men and women who had awakened from a coma and swore that even though their bodies were asleep their minds and spirits were wide awake. One woman even admitted in being back in the 1940's and falling in love, no one believed her until she found the photograph of her and a British soldier together._

_She sat down in shock, so that meant her body was asleep and her mind and spirit were back in time. She was getting another chance. WHY? She of all people didn't deserve it! She had beaten people up on the streets, mainly to survive, but some people had been innocent. She hadn't deserved the second chance Tom had given her, she sure as well didn't deserve this one._

_"Listen sis, where ever you are," Tom said softly, "I hope wake up and come home....I read that same book you did. If you're truly in another time or dimension and finding yourself with friends and family, possibly falling in love.....God, I don't know if I can say this..." he paused as he wiped his hand over his face, "But I have too, or I'll feel guilty for the rest of my life if I don't....If you're finding yourself with family and friends and falling in love....You can stay there, you don't have to wake up....Though I want you too...I want you too so badly. So badly. Please wake up....But if you don't...I understand, it needs to be your choice, Fred. Not mine, not anyone else's, yours. Listen I need to get going back to the station and finish filling out my report, I love you sis. Come home soon, please?" He asked before standing and leaning forward over the table and kissing her forehead, he turned and began to walk away._

_Fred stood so quickly her chair toppled over onto it's side, "No! Wait! Please! Tom, don't go! Stay, please....Please stay....Please?" _

_He continued walking, suddenly the room began turning dark, inky black and Tom was disappearing into the darkness._

"TOM!"

"Fred! Wake up, Fred."

Fred gasped as her eyes snapped open, Racetrack was leaning over her bunk staring wide eyed at her, his dark eyes filled with concern.

"Tom....Where's Tom?"

"Who?"

"My older brother, where is he?"

"No one's heah, everyone's out sellin' deys papes I'se came back early to be wid ya," Race replied with a pause, "Da doc was here an hour ago...He says its alright for youse ta start walkin' around. Youse jist can't sell papes yet." He sat down on the end of her bed.

Fred stared at Race, "Tom was here. I saw him. He spoke to me."

"Dere was no one heah," he replied, "Maybe youse hoid da docta talkin' ta me and Spot?"

"No. It was Tom, he just returned from undercover, and...." Fred paused, her left lung was gone.

"And what?" He asked, "Whatevah it is youse can trust me. Look, if youse say youse older brother was heah, then so be it he was heah, I'se believe youse. People come in and outta da lodgin' houses awll da time without us noticin'." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She paused, "And....He's alright..."

"Dat's good," Race smiled, "Did he ask how youse were?"

"Yeah..." She lied with a nod, "Yeah he did, I told him I'm getting better and I can't wait until he meets you all..."

"I'se hope he comes by again so we'se can," Race replied, "I'se jist hope he don't arrest us."

"He won't, he's a good police officer, stands up for newsies and street kids," she smiled.

"Sounds like a good guy ta have around," he replied.

"He is...He really is..." She paused, "So how did your selling go?" She questioned, forcing her emotions to the back of her mind and heart.

------------------------------------------------------

Race blinked, one moment ago Fred was so emotional she was bordering on frantic, now it was as if nothing had happened. He paused, she must have been doing what Spot was famous for doing: pushing the weaker side away so people never saw it. Maybe he could see the weaker side more, every person had one. But being weak at times wasn't bad, and nothing to be afraid of. He had learned that the hard way.

"It was....Good...Interestin', Spot decided ta sell papes wid me today."

"Doesn't happen much?"

"Nevah happens," Race replied, "He only sells papes wid his second in command, Sport, or wid Cowboy, or wid Alley. No one else."

"Hmm...Maybe he just wanted to talk?"

_Yeah, about youse, _Race thought to himself angrily, _Yeah I'se respect him, but I'se ain't stayin' away from youse, Fred, I won't do it. Yer me friend and maybe one day we'se will be somethin' more..._

"Eh, jist him bein' Brooklyn and braggin' about himself again," Race replied with a smile and lie.

"That doesn't surprise me," Fred replied, sounding as if she had known him forever, "All he did last week was brag about himself until I grabbed his nose."

"Youse grabbed his nose?"

"Yeah," Fred smiled, "He wasn't amused."

Race snorted and began to laugh, he could only envision the mighty Spot Conlon being held captive by his nose, trying to pull away from his captor, Fred, without tearing his nose off. That had to be a sight to see!

Fred chuckled, then began to sit up. Race moved to help her but she shook her head.

"I need to do this on my own," she replied as she slowly sat up on her own, "I need and want to do things for myself starting today now that I know I can walk around."

She paused, "I need to ask you a question."

"Shoah, ask away," he replied. She was confiding in him, that was a big step. She hadn't been confided in Alley or Spot or any other newsie for that matter either. He was the first one....It made him feel...Special, strangely. He shouldn't feel special just because of that, but he did. Maybe it was the fact he knew now that she trusted him?

"Let's say you were in a coma, a long sleep-"

"I'se know what a coma is," Race replied and paused, "Me mudda was in one befoah she died."

"I'm sorry, Race," Fred frowned.

"It's alright," he replied, "Go on."

"If someone told you that you were in a coma and you had two choices: to either stay where your mind is if your happy there, or to wake up back in your home or wherever you body is, what would you do?"

Race paused, "Dat's a difficult one," he frowned. "I'se personally would wanna wake up and be wid me friends," he replied, "Besides, watchin' Jack lead da Delanceys on a wild goose chase each mornin'....Well...It ain't a good mornin' until Jack makes dose two knuckle brains life a livin' hell," he laughed.

Fred paused, "Who are the Delancey brothers?"

Race paused, "Oh boy, I'se forgot youse luckily haven't met dem yet....Awright, it's a long history, wheah to start heah?"

After nearly half an hour Racetrack had educated Fred on the Delancey brothers. Morris was the older one who resembled an ape (according to Sara), and Oscar was the younger one who liked to act tougher than he actually was. Their uncle was Weasel, the old man with a long beak like nose who the newsies gave their money too.

"They sound like a handful," Fred exclaimed, "Where I come from, we'd call them the Three Stooges."

"Da T'ree Stooges? Why dat?" Race asked.

The amused look that appeared on Fred's face, followed by the twinkle in her eye, and the smirk that was slowly growing into a mischievous smile made Race wonder if he should be happy, worried, or duck. When her arm moved he chose the latter and ducked, her hand barely missed the top of his head by an inch.

"What was dat foah?" He asked. What had he done but be a good friend? And she was going to hit him for it?! Anger and hurt welled within him, but he hid it well, but not well enough.

Fred's face went from a smile to a look of concern, "Race, I'm sorry...I was going to give a demonstration on why they call the 3 Stooges, the Three Stooges...I didn't think you were going to take me seriously with a smile on my face."

"Wait, youse were jokin'?" Race asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I was only going to give you a tap on the head, I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

--------------------------------------

Spot watched through the crack of his doorway as Fred and Race talked, Fred began to laugh and Race exclaimed, "So dat's why deys call dem stooges!"

Spot squared his jaw and curled his fingers into fists, anger made him see red. He had brought Fred to Brooklyn for a reason. Wanted Race away from her for a reason. Damn him! He spun halfway around and began to pace back and forth for a moment, anger making him want to run into the room, grab Race, soak him, and throw him out of his room, then ban him from Brooklyn.

Fred was a tough and amazing girl, was stubborn, beautiful, and knew street life like the back of her hand. A girl like her needed to be with Brooklyn, not with a gambler.

"Spot?"

He growled, "Not not Alley."

"Yes, now," she replied as she quickly made her way down the hallway towards him. He mentally groaned to himself, he was going to get lectured and right now he was not in the mood for a lecture.

"Why?" He sneered.

"Because you're obsessed," Alley replied as she shoved her face into his and glared him eye to eye, "That's why. You both have known this girl for what? Nearly a week now. Doesn't it say something that trusts Race enough to open up to him and laugh when she doesn't open up to you."

"She did open up ta me da odda day! She grabbed me nose and laughed."

"She threatened you because you threatened her," Alley replied in exasperation, "She was far from opening up to you. If anything you only pushed her farther away from you. She groans when you walk into the room, what does that tell you?"  
"Dat she's pissed at me for a stupid reason."

"She's pissed at you for a good reason. Have you ever thought she came here because she's meant for Racetrack?"

"She's meant foah me."

Alley sighed, "Spot, come on. You've had how many girlfriends this year and especially after the strike last month? This year in total you've had what, 5 to 6 girlfriends? Race has had how many?"

"I'se don't know."

"You do know."

"No I'se don't."

"One," Alley replied, "One...Two years ago before she was killed in that carriage accident. Don't you think that if Race was given a second chance at love that he of all people deserves it?"

"Yeah he deserves it, but wid another goil," he replied.

"Spot...Out of all these girlfriends you've had in the last three years, how many has Race tried to take? Think about it...How many?"

Spot glanced at her before looking away.

"None." Alley replied for him, "He's told you when you found a nice girl, when he actually gets to meet her that is, other than that he's done nothing but be a good friend. As good of a friend as be, right now he hasn't said a word against you. He hasn't been telling you to stay away from Fred."

"How did youse find out about dat?" Spot asked as he glared at her, he knew she found things out but...Not this quickly.

"Sport told me," Alley replied, "He passed you and Racetrack on the bridge today and your....'conversation' and told me. The Spot Conlon I know does not threaten other newsies, especially newsies who are his friends."

Spot glanced away and grabbed his cane, he kept his hand tightly curled around it.

Alley sighed, knowing he was trying to shut her out, attempting to ignore her.

"Fine, learn the hard way, but I don't think it's going to be Fred this next time whose going to tell you to back off. I think Race has had all he can take." Alley turned and began to walk down the hallway.

"Alley...Stop," Spot exclaimed.

Alley stopped in her tracks and looked behind her shoulder at him, "You know, if you would stop thinking of girls who were tough as nails maybe you'd be able to see the person in this lodging house who...."

"Who what?" Spot asked as he fully turned to her, "Finish what youse were saying."

"Nothing," Alley replied, "Nothing at all."

"Tell me," Spot commanded.

"Don't command me. And it wouldn't matter what I told you or what I didn't tell you. You're just going to have to straighten yourself out and show her who you truly are. Then the smart thing to do would to be to let her decide....Though if you ask me she's already made her choice," Alley replied as she glanced through the crack, Fred was standing up and walking slowly around the room on her own. Racetrack was following close behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

Fred was looking back at him, smiling, looking truly happy. Her eyes were bright and she was glowing.

"Am I Interrupting something?" Exclaimed a new voice.

Spot was glad for the interruption, he had been about to say something he could never take back and he would regret for a long, long time. He turned to Sheriff.

"No, nothin', what's goin' on Sheriff?"

"The usual," the newsgirl leader replied as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Her light brown hair was shoulder length and curly, her eyes could pin any newsie to the wall with just a glance, all the newsies except Spot. Spot had long ago learned not to let that gaze affect him, and in turn she had learned not to let his get to her.

"Priest causin trouble again?"

"Yeah, only I think we're going to get into a war soon, Spot. Bronx and Harlem, and if it does I want your swear that Brooklyn will be here to support us."

"We'se will be heah ta support youse," Spot replied.

"Now I'm hearin' rumors," Sheriff replied, "About a girl who fell from the sky and you and Racetrack Higgins are fighting over her. Why do a stupid thing like that?"

"It ain't somethin' dat's just everyone's business," Spot replied.

"You made it everyone's business with that little scene on the bridge today," Alley exclaimed before walking off.

"She's right," Sheriff agreed, "Now, tell me Spot, what's so important about this girl. Don't give me the same crap you gave Alley about 'oh she's so smart and tough, perfect for Brooklyn.' How many girls have you said that about? Five or six of them? And they wound up being Ms. No-Brains 1899."

"She's different," Spot replied, "Da subject of Fred is ta be dropped now."

"Fred?" Sheriff asked as she raised her eyebrows, "Tell me you didn't give her that name."

"It was heh nickname and she refused ta let me change it," Spot replied.

Sheriff leaned forward and glanced through the crack in the door, Race and Fred were talking.

"Well that's one little girl with a big backbone," Sheriff commented, then looked at Spot before rolling her eyes at him.

"What?"  
"You got a girl in this lodging house whose loved you for years now and you're still damned oblivious to it."

"Who?"

"You know who."

The door suddenly opened and Race jumped ten feet high, "Oh jeez, I'se didn't see youse two dere."

"No problem, Race," Sheriff smiled, "Mind if I meet the new girl?"

"No problem wid me," he shrugged before glancing at Spot and walking into the hallway.

"Dis is absurd youse know," Race exclaimed.

"What is?"

"us fightin' ovah a goil, we'se friends," Race exclaimed, "And we'se breakin' da rule dat we'se don't let a goil get between friendship."

Spot paused upon hearing that, he and Jack had made that rule a few years ago after a long fight over a girl that nearly tore their friendship apart.

"Youse right," Spot replied and paused, "And besides she ain't really sayin what or who she wants is she."

"The only thing she's done is asked me if youse were in a coma and given da choice ta eidda stay in da sleep or ta wake up and 'go home' what would ya do?"

"I'se would wake up, go about me life again," Spot replied.

"Dat's what I'se said," Race replied, "Dis goil, Spot, she don't even know if she wants ta stay heah or go home."

"Because she don't have much ta stay foah right now," Spot replied, "But she will. I'se say in a few days we'se take heh ta Medda's, let heh meet da oddas. Everyone grows ta be friends wid heh, den if she falls in love wid youse, me, or someone else she can make heh choice."

Race paused and nodded, "But no one forces heh in to doin' somethin' she don't wanna do."

"Agreed," Spot replied.

Both boys spat into their palms and then shook hands.

-----------------------------------

Fred held onto the bed post, her side was beginning to ache a little, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. The pain it was giving right now was no worse than getting a hard punch to the side.

"Fred?"

Fred frowned, she didn't recognize that voice, she turned and looked at the newsgirl in front of her.

"Uh...Hello?"

"Hello," the newsgirl greeted, "My names Sheriff, I'm leader of the Bronx Lodging House."

"There are newsgirl leaders?" Fred asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Sheriff smiled, "Not many, but a few."

"It's nice to meet you," Fred smiled, then paused, she looked so familiar, yet she couldn't quite place Sheriff's face.

Sheriff suddenly smiled, "I know that look. My father was Doc Holliday, my mother was Big Nose Kate."

Fred's eyes widened, the history books never mentioned Doc Holliday having a child! Then again, there was a lot of things that had been forgotten throughout history and many years later discovered.

"Wow, it's an honor," she exclaimed.

"Yeah, sure is," Sheriff replied, "Though I know that smile."

"What smile?" Fred asked, as if nothing was wrong.

"That pretend smile, the smile that says 'I trust you' but really you don't trust me farther than you can throw me. Which is understandable since you don't know me, but I'd like to get to know ya. And I also wanted to ask you to give Spot a chance, he's a jerk a lot of times but he's a good one."

"If he'd stop being a jerk I would," Fred replied, "But I don't take well to threats."

"Neither does he," Sheriff replied, "But I will admit you are the first person to enforce your threat with a nose grab," she laughed.

Fred snorted and laughed, "Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

"Very true," Sheriff smiled, "As I say, shoot first and ask questions later."

Fred flinched and looked away, the mention of a gun made her flinch. It shouldn't have, she should have been long since done with the trauma, but it was still there. Brandon, still in front of her pulling the trigger.

"I'm sorry," Sheriff replied, "I didn't realize..."

"It's nothing," Fred replied.

"No, being shot is more than nothing, it's a large something," Sheriff replied, "I'm sorry. I know how much it hurts. And don't tell me you weren't shot, I know the signs, the flinching at the mention of being shot, or shooting, or even a gun."

Fred nodded, "Not much gets past you, does it?" She smiled a little.

"No, but then again, not much get past you either."

"You knew I was watching you in the hallway?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, I felt it more than saw it. I was here longer than Spot and Alley think I was, even when you were walking around with Race you kept glancing through that crack in the door. Listen, stop thinking everyone of us are enemies except Race. We're good people, and no one here is going to whip out a gun and shoot you. As far as I know there aren't newsies who carry guns."

Fred paused, "Except for yourself," she replied, "Your vest may be covering it but the slight bulge shows there's something under there and it's too large to be suspenders or the hilt of a knife."

"Street girl," Sheriff nodded, "Good eye."

"Former street girl," Fred replied.

"Former, maybe, but those same instincts that kept you alive on the street are still with you today and they never fade away."

"Those instincts are a gift," Fred agreed, "I just....I just wish they would have warned me that the guy who shot me, Brandon, had a gun.....Or would do something like that...We knew each other for so long..."

"People change," Sheriff replied.

"I know," Fred replied, "Sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst. But I've endured worse when it comes to the trust department, so I'm movin' on."

"Well if you ever need to talk we're all here for you," Sheriff replied and frowned when Fred's face went back to neutral and almost emotionless. This girl was going to be a piece of work to help. Before she could move on ahead she was going to have to deal with her past first...Whether she liked it or not.


	5. Clara & Fred's History

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. I own Sport, Clara "Bell" MacDunn, and Brandon and Emmaline. I do not own Alley, Lilyanatos does.**_

_**(A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews Nalana :D I named one of the characters in here Galinda, a little after the witch in Wicked just for you. :) Thanks for the review, NotThereWithAPurpose, glad you like the story so far. :D)**_

"If you had to choose between Spot or Race as a husband who would you choose?" Alley questioned two days later as she laid out a pair of fresh clothes for Fred. Today was a big day - Fred had finally gotten Kloppman's nephew's okay to go out of the lodging house.

She was standing up in middle of the room as Alley held clothes up on her back to see if they could fit or not.

Fred blinked, where had _that_ question come from? Choose a husband? Marriage wasn't something she was sure she could even think or deal with anytime soon let alone love.....She had been in love with Brandon when she was 16, the two had grown up on the streets together, they trusted each other and always had each others' backs. Then the guy she had almost given her heart to shot her. Trusting Race and Alley was hard enough, she trusted both of them....But she trusted Racetrack more for some reason. Maybe it was because he reminded her of herself? Doing whatever he could do to survive without selling himself out.

Alley had a good head on her shoulders and Fred liked her a lot, the girl was extremely strong. But as for 'I trust you with my life?' Fred trusted no one like that but Tom. He had worked incredibly hard to earn that trust too. Race, strangely, was almost there but not quite. Spot was far from it.

"I don't really plan on falling in love anytime soon, so overall, it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does," Alley replied before draping one of Spot's shirts over her bunk. Fred frowned, why was it that Spot's clothing always fit her best?

"I like Race as a good friend, Spot...He's not as much of a jerk as he was a few days ago, I'll admit he is getting better. But....Love? I don't think so. Not for a long time."

"You know," Alley said as he pressed a pair of pants to Fred's back, "You're not going to have a choice when the time comes and your heart chooses and ignores your head."

"My heart has its own fortress," Fred replied.

"And the walls are going to come crashing down," replied Alley.

Fred shrugged before quickly moving onto another subject, "So whose this Medda everyone's talking about?"

"Medda is an amazing woman who owns Irving Hall in Manhattan," Alley replied, "I sing for her every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday night. She lets newsies in for free every Thursday night for a show and dinner."

"How did you all come to know her?"

"Jack knew her, actually, then before the strike he introduced Spot to Medda, and soon Medda invited the newsies every Thursday to Irving Hall. However, the rule is that Irving Hall is neutral grounds, in other words if newsies are fighting they're going to have to pretend to like each other for one night each week or just not show up."

"She has security?"

"She didn't used too, but now she does. When the strike was going on Pulitzer hired some thugs to beat us and haul us off to the refuge for a night. Then tried to turn Jack into a traitor and scab, he nearly did too but after some trouble with the Delanceys he got his head on straight again," Alley smiled.

"He's a good guy."  
"Yes, that he is," Alley replied, "Alright, all of Spot's clothing looks like it will fit you. One or two of Sport's clothing might, and a pair of my clothing should. Take your pick, I'll be sitting on the steps when you're ready."

"Thanks," Fred smiled before Alley walked out. When the door shut behind her she looked at the four sets of clothing and chose Spot's. It fit most comfortably, if that newsie said anything, anything at all, she'd twist that tweaky nose off his face.

She changed into Spot's blue shirt and brown corduroys and walked out into the hallway for the first time on her own. She stared in amazement, the hallway was narrow and creaked with each footstep. There were Five doors on this level, the last being the door she had walked out of. It wasn't until she heard footsteps above her she realized there was a third level, she looked up to a staircase and saw a tall and burly guy around her age quickly rush down the stairs. He froze and stared at her.

His eyes were ocean blue and intense, his hair as black as a midsummer's night, his face was square and chiseled. Her heart began to pound, he was around Spot's height, but maybe taller. His face resembled Charlie's from Numb3rs.

"Um...Hi."

"Hey dere," he exclaimed cracking a smile, "Youse must be Fred, I'se Sport."

_Sport, Spot's second in command, _Fred thought to herself. Good gosh, the kid was....He was....beautiful, if that term was acceptable with males. Maybe he wasn't an alpha-male and wouldn't care? Why did she care if he cared?

"I-I've heard a lot about you, it's nice to meet you, Sport," Fred smiled as she held out her hand, he smiled before giving it a sturdy handshake.

"Tough grip says youse strong in mind and spirit," Sport exclaimed, "So deys gettin' youse ready for da walk to Manhattan?"

"Yeah, I have to admit I'm glad to finally be out of bed and walking," she smiled.

"Gotta warn youse," Sport exclaimed, "It's a long walk, longah than youse remembah I'se shoah. But knowin' Spot youse awll will leave at least an hour early so youse can take some breaks."

"Erm..Yeah...Breaks....I'm in need...Of...Breaks....I'm....Sure....Though I mean I've walked a lot, but...Yeah..." What the hell was wrong with her?! She couldn't even speak! She never acted this silly around anyone, she reminded herself of a giggly school girl with her first crush.

Sport paused and gave a smirk, "Yeah it was hard foah me da foist time too walkin' ta Manhattan den back ta Brooklyn awll in one night. But youse get used to it, soon ya won't even notice da walk. Now a walk from Manhattan ta Harlem, dat youse notice."

"You're dressed, hello Sport," Alley greeted with a smile.

"Heya Als, how's it rollin'?" Sport greeted.

"I was about to ask you the same, Spot's been looking everywhere for you."

"Again? I'se just got back from da Bronx."

"When he was nominating a new second in command last year you took it upon yourself to work the hardest and make yourself indispensable, don't look at me," Alley replied.

"Was me own fault," Sport smirked before leaning forward and placing a small kiss on Alley's cheek.

Red. That was the only color Fred could see at the moment. She blinked and quickly forced herself out of her daze. No! She didn't know this guy she was not going to have some sort of immature feelings for him, she wouldn't! For all she knew he could be a killer during the night who killed girls like her and hid his true self from Alley and Spot so well they weren't suspecting of him...

...He glanced at her, maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

She blinked, she needed to get away from him, as fast as she could, there was something seriously wrong with her emotions whenever she got near him.

"So where's da royal pain?" Sport questioned.

Fred couldn't help but do a double take, "You find him a pain in the ass too?"

Alley looked up and gave Fred a hard glare that said 'don't curse.'

"Spot's da biggest pain in da...ah...Rear, youse will find in Brooklyn, but dat ain't a bad t'ing," Sport exclaimed, "In Brooklyn, da tougher youse ah, da higher chances youse won't be boddered...However ya gotta have brains wid dem muscles or youse life expectancy drops dramatically," he said before looking over to Alley.

"He's out behind the lodging house...."

Sport's eyes suddenly filled with sadness, he nodded, "Alright, I'se will wait till he's done."

Fred watched him walk away, "He looked so sad, what happened?"  
Alley paused, "You better sit down. Remember how I said you don't know anything about Spot?"

"Yes," Fred replied as she slowly sat down, her side gave an ache, she winced but ignored it.

"Spot Conlon came very close to becoming Mr. Spot Conlon last year," Alley replied, "That key he wears around his neck belongs to the person buried out back."

"Who is the person?"

"Her name was Clara MacDunn, she was a tough but sweet newsgirl, to tell you the truth...You look just like her," Alley paused and frowned, "That explains a lot of why Spot was acting the way he was."

"She was very special to him."

"Oh yes," Alley agreed, "Extremely. Spot found her beaten up in an alley way when she was only 6 years old, her mother had passed and her father had been abusing her something terrible. Spot was 9 at the time, he took Clara here, they became instant friends....He nicknamed her Bell, because he said it was the sound of her voice whenever she sang. Then, last year he came across that key and Clara had a real thing for old keys, in fact the key Spot found had once upon a time been her mother's master key to their house. Spot bent to one knee later that day to ask for her hand in marriage....And there was a runaway coach," Alley's eyes began to water and become glassy, "Then Spot's ex-second in command, Trigger, got him out of the way in time...But not....Not Clara. She was killed a moment later. Spot then 'demoted' Trigger back to a regular newsie and kicked him out of Brooklyn, he stayed in Bronx for a while, then went on to Queens, then Long Island, last I heard around Christmas time he hopped on a train to New Jersey."

"That's so sad, Spot still blames him?" Fred asked.

"Yes, to this very day....But Trigger was only doing what every second in command knows his duty to do: protect their leader. Maybe one of these days Spot will forgive Trigger, Lord knows I hope so."

"I do too..." Fred replied, amazed. She had no idea Spot Conlon was so sensitive.

Alley paused, "Just...Don't mention Clara or anything about her in front of him, I wasn't ever supposed to speak of her to you."

Fred nodded, "Yeah...I won't say a word, I promise..." She paused, "What about Race?"

"Race was in love once two years ago, but the newsgirl left him to be with the Queens Leader, Bricks. Not to be....Mean to Bricks...But his I.Q. equals that of a brick," she smirked.

Fred chuckled and paused, "You know how you said the walls around my heart would come crashing down? I felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush when I saw Sport."  
"Sport's handsome, but he's a ladies man, he and Spot are just about equal in the ladies department. But Spot....Spot has rules, he doesn't sleep with his girlfriends. Sport does. Sport loves them, beds them, and leaves them. Spot doesn't agree with it, but Sport's a close friend and his second in command, and Spot trusts him with his life...So the two pretty much ignore their different...Uh...Life styles." Alley replied, "So really, it's alright to like Sport, but don't go head over heels for him. This brings me back to the question you really never answered..."

"And a question I never really will answer," Fred replied, "Alley, you all have been teaching me how to trust again. So far I trust Race as far as I can throw him -"

"You can trust him with your life, same with Spot."

"Alley, I have trust issues...Alright...You all have been wondering about me...So you told me about Spot and you told me your life story yesterday...So trusting means sharing pasts, right?"

Alley nodded, "It's not easy, but sharing something that isn't easy shows a sign of trust."

Fred nodded, "Alright then..." she paused and licked her lips before rubbing her hands together, "My dad walked out on my mom and I when I was a baby, so I never knew him. Mom died when I was three and I was put into the system, which where I come from means foster care. They put all your possessions in a trash bag and hand it to you and basically treat you like trash. I stayed with one foster family until I was 7 until they decided that I just 'wasn't the right child for them.' Then I was in the system again until a few days after I turned 8, I was put into another foster home, stayed there until I was nine and ran away. The police caught me and brought me home, the foster family decided they didn't want a runner and back into the system I went."

She continued, "Then I was in the system until I was 11, I was put into the care of an elderly lady named Galinda. She was really nice, and I loved her so much, and she loved me. I stayed there until I was 13, she died and I was put into another foster home across the street. It was terribly, my foster mother was abusive, cruel, and if I....If I made her angry she would bind my wrists with rope so tight the blood stopped running through them, she'd only take them off right before my hands literally died. Her husband was a drunk and did nothing about it." Tears began to rise in her eyes, "Then I met Brandon when I was fourteen and at school, he was an orphan too and was in an abusive household. After a while we both agreed to run away and we were out on the streets."

"I learned to pick pocket for a living and we both lived under a bridge until a girl named Emmaline Conlon, who swears she wasn't a relative of Spot but we all know she was, found us. She was a leader to a bunch of homeless kids, we lived anywhere we could find. We stayed in a mausoleum for at least a good year I think....Then we left when the cemetery's caretaker finally decided to fix its broken door. I saw a lot when I was on the streets, so many people make it sound romantic....Really it's far from it, it's terrifying and every day and night we had to wonder if were going to make it to the next day. There were times when Brandon and I both wrote our names on little slips of paper we found in dumpster's and shoved them into our pockets because with so many gang fights and crazy people out there we weren't sure."

"Then when I turned 16 Brandon and I were planning to steal wallets until we earned enough to get us both off the streets, we were going to pretend to be older than we actually were and get married and have an apartment. I pick pocketed from this one guy who looked real gullible, I almost got away with it too until he came back and arrested me. I was in the slammer - jail - for a week when Tom made a deal with the judge. It took Tom six months to straighten me out, after he did he and I became just like brother and sister."

"Then....Out of the blue Brandon walks back into my life, begs for a hundred bucks out of my register. I tell him I can't, I was lucky to get a second chance that I definitely did not deserve. He shot me for it, the guy I trusted with my life _shot me_."

Alley stared at Fred, "I'm so sorry....I understand now why...Why you don't want to think about love."

----------------------------------------

Spot had been coming back into the lodging house after talking to Sport and talking to Clara. He had come in just in time to hear Fred tell all about her history and froze. She had it just as rough as they did, she was just as tough as he was....Only she was afraid to love. But she was learning to trust again, learning to make friends again, that was a good sign.

He jumped when he heard a creak and turned, Racetrack was standing behind him.

"Now we'se know why she's so closed off," Race whispered.

Spot nodded, "And why she said da odder day dat I wasn't dat odda Conlon."

"We'se should keep talkin ta heh, help heh learn ta trust again widdout worryin dat one of us is gonna shoot her."

"Well, we'se both gainin' her trust, so we'se ah gettin' dere," Spot replied.

Race nodded, "We'se ah...."


	6. Fred's choice & Tom's ancestry

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. I own Tom O'Brady and Fred. Alley belongs to Lilyanatos.**_

_**(A/N: This chapter deals with the time difference in a coma and in real life. For Fred it's only been a few weeks since she was shot, but in the "awake world" it's been three months.)**_

Medda's was filled with newsies from all over New York, there so many boys and girls, men and women that Fred was surprised most had found a place to sit. Many were standing up along side the walls, some in the balconies...Or as in Blink's case, found in fun to hang off the balcony as they watched the show.

"He's gonna fall," Fred commented as she watched the blonde try to coax Mush into doing the same as he was. Mush, valuing his life and limbs more, shook his head no constantly.

Racetrack laughed, "Nah, dat's just Blink bein' Blink," he replied, "He only does dat whenevah we'se got new newsies or visitors."

"So he's showing off for me?" She questioned as she crossed her arms.

"Yeah," Race replied, "And havin' a good time doin' it. Hey, Blink! Fred says yer gonna fall and lose a few limbs!" He shouted upwards to the balcony.

Blink looked in their direction, "No I'se ain't! I'se do dis awll da time Fred! And if I'se fall Medda or Alley will catch me."

Fred blinked the image of the tiny in stature Alley holding tall Blink up in her arms was enough to cause her to snort and laugh.

"What?" Spot asked from the other side of her.

"I was just imagining Alley holding Blink in her arms," she chuckled, "It was a very amusing image."

Spot smirked, "Als stronger dan she looks, trust me."

Fred nodded. The walk to Manhattan two hours before had been long, somewhat painful, and made her wonder why the walks through the streets she had lived on never seemed to take so long. She knew the answer right away: the streets were always filled with an ocean of people, and if you couldn't keep up they'd just drag you right along with them. New York in 1899 didn't have as many people living within it and the streets were wide. She paused as she thought about Tom, was he alright? What about his parents?

A pang went through her heart, she found herself missing the sweet elderly couple who always had a kind word about everyone. No one could have ever guessed that Mr. O'Brady had been a Navy S.E.A.L. in Vietnam, or that his pretty wife who seemed so fragile had been a major in the Army Nurse Cor.

_"Everyone has histories, but that's just it, Fred, it's the past..."_

Fred froze, Tom?! She looked around over the heads of the newsies and froze when she saw him standing in the back left hand corner of the room. He was dressed in a gray suit, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, his hair was slightly messy obviously he hadn't yet combed it. His glasses were halfway down his nose, the way he'd set them whenever reminding her or something.

"Tom," she whispered.

"Who?" Race asked.

"Huh?"

"Youse just said 'Tom'," Race replied as he looked to her, "He heah?"

"Um..." She paused, "Do you see the guy standing in the left corner over there?" She asked as she pointed to her brother.

Race twisted around in his seat, apologizing to Skittery when he accidentally elbowed him (to which the gangly newsboy only grumbled).

He frowned, "Wheah is he? I'se don't see him."

"The guy in the suit."

"Uh..." He paused as he stared at a few newsies who were lucky enough to own suits, "Which one?"

"The blonde guy with his hands shoved in his pockets, he's wearing glasses half way down his nose."

"Oh youse mean Dutchy! Is Dutchy Tom?"

"No," Fred frowned, "It must have been a trick of the light, sorry," she replied as she stared at Tom. Why was it she could see him and no one else could?

Tom suddenly gave her a small smile, _"I wish I knew what you seeing, hearing, and thinking now, little sis. You know the doctor whose taking care of you, Linda, is very sweet. She made sure I can visit you regularly after visiting hours...And you'd be proud of me, I took the plunge and asked her on a date. We had our first one three nights ago, she's quite a woman."_

Fred smiled, she had been poking at her older brother to date Dr. Mallorie since the day she saw them both talking outside of the hospital after a mugging. The two made a perfect couple, and Tom needed a gentle and strong woman to help watch over him.

She wanted to reply to Tom so bad it practically hurt not being able too, even if she did and made Spot and Race look at her funny she knew Tom wouldn't hear her. He didn't hear her the last time, he wouldn't hear her this time. She wished she could run over to him and grab him in a giant hug and tell him how much she had missed him.

Tom paused and sighed, _"Listen, kiddo,....Damn I was hopin' not to have to tell ya this."_

Tell me what?! Fred wondered in fear, was he okay? What was going on?

_"But.....Pop ain't doing so well, he took a fall the other day and busted his hip real bad. I....I need to be with him more often now, he's real lonely in that room. But I'm gonna keep on visiting you! No doubt about it! I just need....More time with pop now....Just in case....Ya know...He doesn't make it." He paused before shaking his head and running his hand through his hair._

Mr. O'Brady had broken his hip? Fred's stomach twisted, that had been how a friend of hers grandmother and only legal guardian had died. She was nearly blind and taken a nasty fall, it had been one of the major factors that led to her death. But Mr. O'Brady was strong, he'd make it without problems!

Tom looked up at her, _"Kiddo, I'm guessing you made your decision on where your staying...At least for now." _He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eye, _"Somethin' in my eye. But....If....If you're happy where you are....Truly happy, than it's okay. Really it is, maybe some day our dreams will cross and we'll see and be able to talk to each other again, huh....What da?" _

Fred blinked, what was wrong?

_"Dr. Mallorie!" _He shouted suddenly, _"Linda! It's Fred, she smiled and moved her finger!"_

"Fred?" Race asked as he shook her.

"Huh? What?" She questioned, snapped from her trance.

"Youse fell asleep," Race replied, "Nearly missed da beginning of da show," he smiled before he twisted back around in his seat.

Fred looked up to the stage and thanked Race, she paused.

_Trust. Trust him Fred, he's given you no reason not too....Remember what you felt for Sport? Admit it, that's how your feeling for him! _She thought to herself. She glanced over at the Italian newsie and swallowed. She did have to admit these last few days whenever Race was around her heart skipped a beat and she was happier than usual, she could tell him anything at any time and never needed to worry about being judged.

She paused before scooting closer to Race and leaning onto his shoulder.

----------------------------

Race jumped when Fred leaned against him, nearly having a heart attack when she took his hand in her own. He glanced down at her and found her giving a big smile.

"Ah...Fred? Erm...Youse...Ok wid doin'....What yer doin'?"

"Yeah," she replied softly, "I am...."

Race paused, his heart pounding, "Fred...Ah youse tellin me youse made youse choice?"

Fred paused and stared at him intently as if she was trying into interperet what he had said. Her eyes pinned him to the seat, his breath was caught in his throat. He only vaguely noticed Spot looking over at them at hearing the word choice.

Her gaze shifted over to Spot.

--------------------------------------------

She was making her choice. Right after they had decided to leave her be she was now making her choice. Part of Spot wanted to shout at the stubborn girl 'What is it wid youse?! Why youse gonna turn our lives upside down?' But he already knew the answer: because she was a woman. A beautiful, strong, intelligent woman. Women like her could make mens' lives a living hell without even noticing it, where as other women who did notice it made mens lives a living hell for seemingly the sheer joy of it.

Her gaze wandered over to him, he found his eyes held captive by hers. The way she was looking at him now, he had been wondering how he'd feel. He had been certain that when she was making her choice and she looked to him, he'd feel....Something. He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. He had fought hard for her and tried to get her to like him, then backed off. Doing everything he could think of to do for the girl.

He felt nothing for her when it came to the heart. How? How could this be? Then when her eyes broke contact with his he knew why, he had wanted her so badly in hopes he could have Clara back. He had been trying to make her like Clara. When he had nicknamed Clara 'Bell' he had went through a long list of nicknames before Clara smiled and exclaimed 'that one!' on the name she liked - Bell.

Fred, however, had became annoyed and frustrated when he attempted to nickname her. She may have looked just like Clara, but she wasn't Clara. In face and body they were almost twins, but in minds and spirits they were two worlds apart.

--------------------------------------------------

"I've made my choice," Fred replied finally as the lights began to dim and Medda walked out on stage.

Race and Spot stared at her, she felt suddenly as if she was the main actress in a play. All were waiting to hear her lines, the suspense was thick in the air. But she wasn't an actress, this was _real_. After all a person couldn't fall in love with a dream, could they?

How long had she fought against not seeing Race the way her heart had been wanting her too? How long had she been fighting off her emotions? She knew the answer she was giving would answer both Race and Tom's question on her decision. But if she told Race how she felt she'd either wake up, or she'd never see Tom again, or maybe she would when he visited? For some reason doubt crept into her mind with a small whisper, _you can't have it both ways. Choose your destiny, choose now._

That whispering voice hadn't belonged to her, she didn't know who it belonged too. She sat up and glanced behind her at Tom who was staring at her, wide eyed. She looked over at Race and noticed that his face, Spot's, and Irving Hall's was beginning to fade away to the steady beep of a heart monitor and to a bright light.

She had to make her choice, NOW. If she didn't say his name she'd wake up and she'd never see him again! The air she was breathing seemed so heavy now, she grabbed onto Race's hand.

"Fred?" He asked, "What's wrong? Youse look terrified, we'se won't be angry....If youse even decide not ta choose one of us," Race replied.

"Or if youse just made youse choice not ta give yer heart up or somethin'," Spot exclaimed.

_"That's it Fred," _Tom exclaimed, suddenly leaning over her, _"That's it, I see your eyes!"_

"Racetrack!" Fred exclaimed quickly, "I choose Racetrack!"

"Sheesh ya don't need ta shout it," Spot exclaimed, "We'se right next ta ya!"

Medda was singing and suddenly the hospital room that had slowly been creeping into her vision faded away...And Fred had a feeling she'd never see it again. But instead of being crushed by the fact of never seeing Tom again, though she was saddened, she wasn't a heap of sadness. She curled into Race, hoping he didn't mind.

He didn't seem too, he was beaming from ear to ear and his arm had found its way around her waist. Fred had to admit as she put her head on his shoulder, this felt right...Seemed right....Had to be right. She lightly squeezed him as she felt her heart ache with the knowledge that the world of 2009 she had once known was now gone forever, but at the same time her heart sang.

She had been given a beautiful second chance, she had learned to trust again, she had friends real friends now, not friends Tom was helping her try to make. And she had fallen in love with Racetrack Higgins. The newsboy she could tell anything too, the person she could be herself around. She glanced at Spot, hoping she hadn't hurt him, to her surprise he looked relieved.

-----------------------------

Tom stared, "Fred?" He asked softly.

Linda paused and shook her head as she put her hand onto Tom's shoulder. The heart monitor had gone from a steady beat to a flat line. The nurses had attempted to bring the girl back, while two male nurses had to hold Tom away from his sister.

"I--I don't understand, she just opened her eyes....And the bullet didn't touch her heart, you said so!" Tom exclaimed, his heart feeling as if someone had just stomped on it.

"No..It didn't," Linda paused, "I don't know what happened, Tom. I have no idea why she died," she frowned, "I'm so...Sorry..."

Tom paused before he stared down at Fred's face, "She said somethin' befoah she died."

"I didn't hear anything," Linda frowned.

"She said 'Racetrack'," he replied with a frown, "What the hell do you think that means?"

"Either she's dreaming about NASCAR racing or...Wait a moment..." Linda paused.

"What?" Tom asked, still in shock, still unable to believe Fred had just.....Died in front of him. Grief was beginning to make its way into him, he took off his glasses as a wave of utter exhaustion coursed through his body. For the first time in years, he cried.

He didn't know for how long he sobbed, he didn't care. He and Fred had grown as close as flesh and blood brother and sister these last few months. Now she was gone. But one thing he knew for certain Brandon, that little murdering bastard, wouldn't get away. Fred was dead, now Brandon would either be locked up for life or sentenced to get the needle. Personally, he hoped for the latter. From what he had last heard Brandon's case wasn't going well for him, not in the least single bit.

When the heart aching pain had eased some he found himself encased in Linda's arms, she was holding him close and whispering softly that everything would be alright.

"It's been 3 months since she was shot," Linda said softly, "Although we've been keeping a close eye on her anything could have happened.....But more likely than not.....I think she made her choice."

"Why do ya say that?" Tom asked, as he wiped the palm of his hand over his eyes.

"I asked one of my nurses to come and get this for me. When this hospital was built by a newspaper giants for a hospital for the newsies they had help designing it."

"Yeah, I know, from Jack Kelly and his wife Alley, and from a few other couples who were newsies."

"And one of the newsies name was Racetrack Higgins," replied Linda.

Tom stared, disbelief showing on his face, Linda handed him the framed photograph. He looked down and froze. The picture had been taken right after the hospital had been completed in August of 1901. A short Italian man, no older than 20 (though it was hard to tell due to his young face) stood with his arm wrapped around his wife, Mrs. Winifred Higgins. Fred.

She was 19 in the photograph and glowing, beaming from ear to ear. Her stomach was raised slightly.

"Oh my God," Tom whispered. Fred had always said that many a coma victims did travel back through time, mentally and spiritually, but he had never believed her. He sat back in the chair and stroked his chin, amazed.

"Without those two this hospital wouldn't be the way it is now...They were the lead designers. Mrs. Higgins wanted the hospital to look the way it had in her 'vision' she had two years before."

"I'm not sure what to say...." Tom exclaimed before pausing, "Other than I find it disturbing that my adopted sister is my great-great grandmother."

"Pardon?" Linda asked, her eyes wide. As a doctor she was trained to be practical, but she had always believed in world not always being so practical.

"My great-great grandfather was Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins, his wife's name was Winifred. It never hit me until now," Tom replied before he glanced up at Fred's body. "So that's the reason you couldn't stay, or I wouldn't be here...." he shook his head, "I'm not sure if there's anything else to say."

"I....Personally, am speechless," Linda replied, "All I can say is thank you, Fred....If she hadn't made her decision you wouldn't be here now," she replied as she kissed his cheek and helped him stand up. She led him out of the room and paused, a small smile creeping over her face.

"I'm glad you finally made your choice, Fred, I promise to take good care of Tom," she said softly before she walked past two nurses who were walking into the room to bring her body down to the morgue.

--------------------------------------

_**Epilogue**_

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_Racetrack Higgins and Winifred Addams married in December of 1899, they were known as the happiest couple in the Manhattan Lodging House. According to stories passed down by my grandmother and my mother My great-great-great grandmother was a happy woman who always made the future come alive. After she and grand dad helped to design the hospital they moved to this part of New York. Grand dad became a police officer and one of the first Italian detectives in this area. _

_Grandmom was one of the first female reporters in this part of New York, and she and grand dad were said to be two of the biggest supporters of the newsies. Gee, wonder why? (Note my sarcasm here.)_

_Some even called grand mom a psychic believing she could see future events. If what dad says is true, than my grandmother really was from 2009._

_I think mom and dad have worked too many late night shifts._

_That's all for this morning._

_-The Diary of Lindsay O'Brady, August, 2027-_

"Lindsay, you're going to be late for school!"

"Yeah, I know ma, I'm coming!" 18 year old Lindsay replied before she threw her backpack over her shoulder and walked into the hallway. Her dad was waiting at the base of the stairs.

"I wanna know who this boy is your dating," he exclaimed.

"I'm not dating him dad, we're just friends," Lindsay replied stubbornly.

"Uh-huh, and Racetrack and Winifred were 'just friends' to at first you know," he replied.

"Yeah, but her dad wasn't the police chief of Historic New York either," Lindsay replied with an eye roll, "Hey mom, can you tell dad to stop playing detective."

"Honey, since the day I've known him he's been a detective," her mother, the chief surgeon at the hospital, replied as she kissed Lindsay's forehead.

As Lindsay sat down at the kitchen table Tom walked over to Linda and pulled his wife close into a long kiss. He gave a gentle smile, "It's the 18th anniversary of Fred making her choice."

"I know," Linda replied with a small smile.

"How did Lindsay take knowing her great-great-great grandmother was a street kid in 2009 that I adopted?"

"She was shocked and she's skeptical, but she'll come around," Linda smiled.

"I hope so, I got the pictures to proove-"

"You don't need to prove anything," Linda replied, "We know, and that's all that matters."


End file.
